Poetically Inspired
by Lucinda
Summary: Responses to a Weekly Poetry-Ficlet Challenge. Characters, situations, & seasons will vary.
1. Explanations & Quotes

What is this? What's going on here?

This will not be a single, multi-chaptered story. Sorry, but no. Look elsewhere for that (I have several dozen if that's what you want).

Instead, this will be a single entry for what will end up being a collection of short stories. Why? Because one of the mailing lists that I'm on has a new thing: a weekly Poetry Quote Challenge. The list-owner provides a snippet of poetry, and the challenge is for the list-members to write a ficlet (a single part, stand alone story, needing neither prequel nor sequel) inspired by or featuring that fragment of poetry. Her goal was to inspire creativity, to prompt people to write more, and to try different characters, people or pairings that they might not have considered writing about before.

I don't know if this will go on forever, or how many of the poetry selections I'll be able to write ficlets for. That will depend on a lot of different things, among them how inspiring I find the quote.

Just to make this as clear as possible: each 'chapter' will be a separate ficlet. They do not form any sort of whole. There is no continuation from one chapter to another, so don't give yourselves headaches looking for one. They will skip from season to season randomly. Some of them may be crossovers, some are not. If there is a fic that I intend to turn into a series or even write a sequel for, or one that I just think could use the visibility, it will get it's own listing - definitely for sequels.

As the main characters and pairings - if there are pairings then they will vary, you may not care for all of them. You may not like the focus of any given fic. And if a fic is not so happy, it doesn't necessarily mean that I dislike that character and/or relationship. Sometimes, there's just a particular idea demanding that it be written...

Hopefully, you'll find these enjoyable. So far, they've been pretty fun to write.

thanks,

Lucinda

Responses are asked to be sent to the applicable groups/lists. For these lists, slash and/or NC17 is permitted, as long as it is clearly labeled in the subject line.

Twisting-the-hellmouth (at) - for any crossover fiction, featuring any character from BtVS or Angel (a fic with only characters from BtVS or A:tS or only from both does NOT count as a crossover by the rules of that list) crossed over with ANY other source - books, movies, television, comics, games... Length of fics may vary.

Please note that the fics are not required to be shippy. A fic with a couple characters from different series just hanging out together would be fine, or someone stumbling onto a puzzle that is more often seen somewhere else, complete with the investigators... Bystanders for something unexpected - Mulder & Scully drop by Sunnydale, Hank Summers related to Scott Summers, pen pals, all of that is just as welcome as anything else.

Here are the Poetry Quotes, in order of the weeks.

Week #1 Poetry Quote

"Because I could not stop for Death,

He kindly stopped for me;

The carriage held but just ourselves

And Immortality. "

-- Emily Dickinson - Because I could not stop for Death

Week #2 Poetry Quote

"T'was so; But this, all pleasures fancies bee.

If ever any beauty I did see,

Which I desire'd, and got, t'was but a dreame of thee"

-The Good Morrow, John Donne

Week #3 Poetry Quote

"SHE walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

And all that's best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes:

Thus mellow'd to that tender light

Which heaven to gaudy day denies."

-- She walks in beauty, Byron

Week #4 Poetry Quote

Some say the world will end in fire;

Some say in ice.

From what I've tasted of desire

I hold with those who favor fire.

But if it had to perish twice,

I think I know enough of hate

To know that for destruction ice

Is also great

And would suffice.

-'Fire and Ice' by Robert Lee Frost

Week #5 Poetry Quote

"I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness,

starving hysertical naked,

dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix,

angelheded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the

starry dynamo in the machinery of the night..."

- from "Howl" by Allen Ginsberg

Week #6 Poetry Quote

"You may shoot me with your words,

You may cut me with your eyes,

You may kill me with your hatefulness,

But still, like air, I'll rise."

- from "Still I Rise" by Maya Angelou

Week #7 Poetry Quote

REMEMBER me when I am gone away,

Gone far away into the silent land;

When you can no more hold me by the hand,

Nor I half turn to go, yet turning stay.

Remember me when no more day by day

You tell me of our future that you plann'd:

Only remember me; you understand

It will be late to counsel then or pray.

Yet if you should forget me for a while

And afterwards remember, do not grieve:

For if the darkness and corruption leave

A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,

Better by far you should forget and smile

Than that you should remember and be sad.

Christina Georgina Rossetti - Remember

Week #8 Poetry Quote

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun,

Coral is far more red than her lips' red;

If snow be white, why then her breasts be dun;

If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.

I have seen roses damask'd, red and white,

But no such roses see I in her cheeks;

And in some perfumes there is more delight

Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.

I love to hear her speak, yet well I know

That music hath a far more pleasing sound;

I grant I never saw a goddess go,

My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground.

And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare

As any she belied with false compare.

Shakespeare, Sonnet 130

Week #9 Poetry Quote

"He was my north, my south, my east and west;

My working week, my Sunday best;

My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song.

I thought that love would last forever, ... I was wrong. "

-- W.H. Auden, 'Song IX' from 'Twelve Songs'

Week #10 Poetry Quote

Jumping off the highboard-

Into the marshmallow pool.

Swimming through the greenbeans,

I'm NOBODY'S fool.

Bouncing on a rubber stamp

Trying to print your name.

Hoping hard to make the score-

Who says life's a game???

--Jen LeMaire, "Fish" (c) 1990

Week #11 Poetry Quote

Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

Did gyre and gimble in the wabe

All mimsy were the borogoves,

And the mome raths outgrabe

"Beware the Jaberwock, my son!

The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!

Beware the jubjub bird, and shun

The frumious Bandersnatch!"

-- Lewis Caroll, Jabberwocky

Week #12 Poetry Quote

I want to go with the one I love.

I do not want to calculate the cost.

I do not want to think about whether it's good.

I do not want to know whether he loves me.

I want to go with whom I love.

- Bertolt Brecht (I Want to Go With Whom I Love)

Week #13 Quote

"I am the daughter of Earth and Water,

And the nursling of the Sky:

I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores;

I change, but I cannot die."

-- 'The Cloud' by Percy B. Shelley

Week# 14 quote

It little profits that an idle king,

By this still hearth, among these barren crags,

Match'd with an aged wife, I mete and dole

Unequal laws unto a savage race,

That hoard and sleep, and feed, and know not me.

I cannot rest from travel: I will drink

Life to the lees: all times I have enjoy'd

Greatly, have suffer'd greatly, both with those

That loved me, and alone; on shore, and when

Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades

Vext the dim sea: I am become a name;

For always roaming with a hungry heart

Much have I seen and known; cities of men

And manners, climates, councils, governments,

Myself not least, but honour'd of them all;

And drunk delight of battle with my peers,

Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.

I am a part of all that I have met;

Yet all experience is an arch wherethro'

Gleams that untravell'd world, whose margin fades

For ever and for ever when I move.

How dull it is to pause, to make an end,

To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use!

As tho' to breathe were life. Life piled on life

Were all too little, and of one to me

Little remains: but every hour is saved

From that eternal silence, something more,

A bringer of new things; and vile it were

For some three suns to store and hoard myself,

And this gray spirit yearning in desire

To follow knowledge, like a sinking star,

Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.

This is my son, mine own Telemachus,

To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle—

Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfil

This labour, by slow prudence to make mild

A rugged people, and thro' soft degrees

Subdue them to the useful and the good.

Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere

Of common duties, decent not to fail

In offices of tenderness, and pay

Meet adoration to my household gods,

When I am gone. He works his work, I mine.

There lies the port: the vessel puffs her sail:

There gloom the dark broad seas. My mariners,

Souls that have toil'd, and wrought, and thought with me—

That ever with a frolic welcome took

The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed

Free hearts, free foreheads—you and I are old;

Old age hath yet his honour and his toil;

Death closes all: but something ere the end,

Some work of noble note, may yet be done,

Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.

The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:

The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep

Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,

'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.

Push off, and sitting well in order smite

The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds

To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths

Of all the western stars until I die.

It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:

It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,

And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.

Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'

We are not now that strength which in old days

Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are;

One equal temper of heroic hearts,

Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will

To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

- Ulysses, by Tennyson

Week# 15 quote

O Rose, thou art sick

The invisible worm

That flies in the night

In the howling storm

Has found out thy bed

Of crimson joy

And his dark secret love

Does thy life destroy

- 'The Sick Rose' by William Blake

Week # 16 (yes, there was a long break)

'Beyond this place of wrath and tears

Looms but the Horror of the shade,

And yet the menace of the years

Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,

How charged with punishments the scroll,

I am the master of my fate:

I am the captain of my soul.'

- Invictus by William Ernest Henley

Poetry Quote #17.

Do not stand at my grave and forever weep.

I am not there; I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow.

I am the diamond glints on snow.

I am the sunlight on ripened grain.

I am the gentle autumn's rain.

When you awaken in the morning's hush

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circled flight.

I am the soft stars that shine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and forever cry.

I am not there. I did not die.

-- I Did Not Die, Mary Sue Pacho


	2. Stopped for Me

Author: Lucinda  
  
rating: pg  
  
main character(s): Doyle  
  
disclaimer: I hold no legal rights to any characters that you recognize.  
  
distribution: TNL, Paula, anyone else ask.  
  
note: for Jinni's Poetry Quote Challenge #1.  
  
"Because I could not stop for Death,  
  
He kindly stopped for me;  
  
The carriage held but just ourselves  
  
And Immortality. "  
  
-- Emily Dickinson - Because I could not stop for Death  
  
* * * * * *  
  
Really, I guess I shouldn't be too surprised about this. Being dead an' all, that is. I should have known it would happen sooner or later. I mean, honestly, there's the drinking, and there has been a lot of drinking since I found out... well, about my father. There's the attempts at heroics, which isn't my specialty - there's a reason why Angel's the fighter and I'm the guy with the visions. And there's the simple fact that LA's not a safe place. All of it adds up to the fact that a guy can't expect to live forever.  
  
Doesn't make me feel any better about it, though. Even the fact that I'm not quite sure how I'm still... well, feeling or thinking much of anything doesn't quite help. There was the Scourge's bomb, and then everything seemed to just... vanish into this bright white light.  
  
I know that I am dead.  
  
But what happens next? I'm just... well, there's all this white, and time to think, or at least, it feels like there's time to think. Am I here? Is there a here? Is this it, for the rest of eternity? Aww, please God, don't let this be it for the rest of eternity.  
  
  
  
Maybe a few moments to think, to sort it all out will be good for me. To think about my life, about what I did, what I didn't do, what I wanted to do... Cordelia. Now there's something I can think about for a while. Gorgeous, smart, sharp tongue on the girl, but there's something about her...  
  
I guess it doesn't matter anymore what I wanted to do. It's over. Everything's over - for me at least. No more Allan Francis Doyle.  
  
It was something though, my life. Maybe not perfect, but I know that I lived. I lived so much that Death had to come drag me down in such a big display... Not with a whimper, but with a bang. Or at least a flash.  
  
Maybe that's enough?  
  
end Stopped for Me. 


	3. Words for Eternity

Author: Lucinda  
  
rating: pg/pg13  
  
main character(s): William, Dru  
  
disclaimer: I hold no legal rights to any characters that you recognize.  
  
distribution: RedsSoulMates, TNL, Paula - anyone else ask please.  
  
note: for Jinni's Poetry Quote Challenge #1.  
  
"Because I could not stop for Death,  
  
He kindly stopped for me;  
  
The carriage held but just ourselves  
  
And Immortality. "  
  
-- Emily Dickinson - Because I could not stop for Death  
  
  
  
* * * * * * *  
  
He'd been frantically trying to capture Cecily's beauty in words, trying to describe her grace, her fair skin, her bright eyes that gleamed like smooth jewels, her hair that fell like a glowing cloud about her shoulders... To put her wondrousness to the page, preserving that image for eternity. He'd failed dismally. Repeatedly failed. Pages of words that fell short of her brilliance, her effulgent charm...  
  
There were only a bare handful that he might be willing to let her see. Only a few worthy of those lustrous eyes. Perhaps these words, humble and inept as they might be, could win a smile from her? A kind word?  
  
Cecily was wonderful, a gift of God to this wretched and dismal world, and he could but dream for a moment... well, he'd dreamed of more than a moment with her. But that wasn't very realistic. Maybe these words would win that moment? A single moment, out of all the moments of forever, of her attention.  
  
And he stood there, heart clenching inside of him, barely daring to breath as she looked at the pages, her skin like warm ivory as she handles the pages of his words. Those incomparable eyes scanned his words, her lips moved slightly as she read them. Hope was almost painful inside him.  
  
"These are dreadful. They couldn't..." She looked at him, her eyes widening slightly, and she pulled in a breath, almost visibly pulling away from him without moving. "You wrote these... about me?"  
  
"yes." It was a bare whisper, chocked out by an unnamable dread. William looked at Cecily, certain that she wasn't finished speaking.  
  
The pages were flung at him, falling into the air, twisting and turning like clumsy birds, plummeting slowly to the ground, taking his hopes with them. "You can't possibly... You are beneath me."  
  
William knelt slowly, not in worship of the Lady Cecily, but like a penitent, carefully picking up the rejected pages. He'd known they were unworthy of her, but to have had them flung back so cruelly... It stung, burning inside of him as he'd always imagined a swallowed coal would burn.  
  
Perhaps Cecily was not quite so perfect as he'd thought?  
  
Finally, he'd retrieved all of his pages of words. Clutching them in his hands so hard that they went numb, he slipped out of the garden. This was too terrible, he could not remain at the party after such... rejection. There was a tiny gate, opening to a thin road, barely more than an alley. Dully, almost clumsily, William began to walk down it.  
  
Barely, he registered the carriage that drove past him, a large dark mass pulled by dark horses. William didn't realize that he later walked by the same dark carriage, now waiting for its occupants to return.  
  
"Hello, pretty. Why do you weep? The stars are singing, and there shall be long waltzes of time still to go..." The words came from a lovely woman with dark hair and eyes, her skin as pale as the finest porcelain.  
  
Looking at her, William found the words falling away from him, and images of this woman filled his mind. Images of dark hair and sweeping skirts, waltzing on a plane of stars. "Ohh..."  
  
Her cool hand found his, and she tugged lightly at him. "Come with us, come away and be my love..."  
  
Smiling just a little, William followed her, climbing into the carriage. Another man, his dark hair and eyes like enough to the lovely maiden's to be her brother, sat inside, with a delicate golden haired lady beside him. The blonde woman had this faintly amused smile, while the gentleman looked almost annoyed. "Welcome to the family, boy."  
  
William had no idea just how much everything was about to change for him. Now and forever.  
  
end Words For Eternity 


	4. Dark Beauty

Author: Lucinda  
  
rating: pg13  
  
main characters: Spike, Dru  
  
disclaimer: I hold no legal rights to any characters from 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer' (creation of Joss Whedon & a whole lot of other people who aren't me)  
  
distribution: Jinni's Quickfics, Paula, anyone else please ask.  
  
notes: response to Jinni's Weekly Poetry Challenge (week 3, Poetry Quote below). Set in season  
  
"SHE walks in beauty, like the night  
  
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;  
  
And all that's best of dark and bright  
  
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:  
  
Thus mellow'd to that tender light  
  
Which heaven to gaudy day denies."  
  
-- She walks in beauty, Byron  
  
She looked so peaceful, resting there. Her dark hair spilled around her head and shoulders like a cloud, a dark halo around his dark goddess. She was radiant, her skin gleaming in the moonlight like pearls. She was beautiful, glorious, worthy of the finest and most eloquent poetry being offered to her in homage.  
  
Of course, everything would change when she woke up. She was wonderfully beautiful, but his love was hardly a silent woman. She was always singing, humming, talking tot he stars or those damn dolls of hers. And while her voice was lovely and melodious, if you listened too closely it could drive you almost as off balance as she was.  
  
Dearly as he loved her, Spike had to face reality sometimes. Reality was, Drusilla was insane.  
  
She was pure grace and poetry in motion. She danced with a sinuous and seductive grace, like flowing water, like the night wind that caressed the skin. She could run as swiftly as the nimble deer, leaping after her prey with a lilting laugh, giggling as she ripped open their throats. She was like the shadow of quicksilver when she ran.  
  
Her rage was like the fury of the wildest storm, with loud shrieks and the occasional howl that could chill the blood of even the most ruthless vampire. Her fury could come as swiftly as the lightning, as undeniable as the thunder, and blow over as quickly as a summer shower.  
  
When she was delighted, then she was as gleeful and energetic as a playful kitten, sly and quick, with swift swipes of sharp claws and silken fingers, petal soft lips. Her eyes could show her every emotion as clearly as the printed word.  
  
  
  
But all of that had changed in Prague. She'd tried a little too much, yet another of her excessive and delightful plans. Only this time, she hadn't been swift enough to run away. This time, she'd been cornered, been attacked by the survivors, the families of her victims. He'd barely managed to rescue her, and she had been so injured, so weakened by the whole terrible mess that he'd feared she would fade away, drift to sleep beside him and he'd wake to a scattering of dust in place of his dark goddess.  
  
Her energy was gone, and he worried so much about her. The wounds had closed, but she was still so weak, having lost weight, becoming paler, almost translucent. She was still beautiful, still his moon and stars, his dark and glorious goddess, but she was just so weak...  
  
Spike brushed his fingers over Dru's cheek, his soft words a promise. "Don't worry, baby. I'll find a way to make you all better again. Then it can be just like it was before."  
  
Her dark lips, stained with the blood of her victims, curled up slightly, into a delicate smile. She was a delicate beauty, too fragile, too elegant for the day. And he would find a way for them to once again rule the night. For her.  
  
end Dark Beauty. 


	5. Bright Star

Author: Lucinda  
  
rating: pg 13  
  
main characters: Adam Peirson(Methos), Faith  
  
disclaimer: I hold no legal rights to any characters from 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer' (creation of Joss Whedon & a whole lot of other people who aren't me) or from Highlander (Creation of a different group of people that don't include me).  
  
distribution: Jinni's Quickfics, Paula, anyone else please ask.  
  
notes: response to Jinni's Weekly Poetry Challenge (week 3, Poetry Quote below). Set AU post season four.  
  
a small nod to Jinni's Willow/Methos for making me think of him again, and inspiring me to try using him in a fic.  
  
"SHE walks in beauty, like the night  
  
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;  
  
And all that's best of dark and bright  
  
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:  
  
Thus mellow'd to that tender light  
  
Which heaven to gaudy day denies."  
  
-- She walks in beauty, Byron  
  
  
  
  
  
He knew from the moment that he first saw her that she was someone special. Granted, that could have had a little to do with the fact that she had been busy fighting four vampires at the time, and winning, but still... She'd been beautiful, and her motion the sort to inspire poetry. Graceful, powerful, sensual even in a fight... mmmm. If he were a cat, he would be purring right about now.  
  
Of course, he really should have known better, especially at his age, than to allow himself to be so completely distracted in a place with obvious vampires. His not-so-gentle reminder of that came in the form of a blond female vampire wearing a pair of those ridiculously low blue jeans with the flare legs and this sort of corsety top that showed of the tattoo encircling her pierced navel.  
  
"Dinner is served, lucky me." Her claws had dug into his arm, drawing blood as she spun him around, trying to pull him close enough to bite.  
  
"Sorry to break it to you, but you aren't my type." He'd shoved his other fist into her throat, the pain of it buying time for him to draw his sword. Then, he was fighting her, a man with a sword against a vampire with inhuman strength and sharp teeth. Thank... something... that she wasn't that good of a fighter. He still felt rather bruised by the time his sword parted that fanged head from her body, both falling to dust.  
  
"Not bad. Decapitation does tend to kill most things." This voice was less threatening, with a sort of near purr and a faint New England accent to it. She was smiling at him, one hand on a leather clad hip, no bruises, injuries or weapons visible anymore. There were also no more vampires.  
  
For a terribly awkward moment, he hadn't been certain what to say. Then, he'd smiled at her. "It's a fairly basic idea. Been around for a very long time, actually. I'm just... rather lucky that she wasn't that good of a fighter."  
  
"Yeah... lucky." There was something in her smirk, a hint of secret knowledge that taunted him, tantalized him. "Might not be a bad idea to go inside somewhere, maybe a place with fewer vamps?"  
  
He grinned, and gave in to the arrogance that had once led him to believe that he was above the laws, above the gods. "Maybe I can buy you a drink? I know this nice little jazz club..."  
  
"You get attacked by a vampire, and now you're asking me out?" She looked shocked, but not angry. "Sorry, but I don't accept drinks from people whose name I don't know."  
  
Holding out one hand, he smiled just a little. "Easily remedied. I'm Adam Peirson."  
  
Her own hand slipped into his, hard with muscle and calluses, but almost delicate feeling just the same. "I'm Faith."  
  
A part of him was trying to protest, to offer a warning that at best, this could only lead to heartache in the future. But the words emerged anyhow. "So... now that you know my name, how about that drink?"  
  
Faith brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes. "Most guys wouldn't be quite so keen to go off with someone they just saw fighting monsters. What makes you different?"  
  
The question made him smile, thinking of all the possible ways he could answer that one. "Eternal optimism? Actually, you reminded me of a bit of poetry I heard once, something about being beautiful like the night, and a blending of light and dark. Except said a lot better, because that's what poets do."  
  
She smiled, and was that a blush on those cheeks? She slipped her hand lightly onto his arm, her words soft, as if she wasn't quite certain that she should be saying them. "Maybe a drink might be nice."  
  
  
  
A fragment of even older poetry danced in his mind, composed by a long forgotten poet for a forgotten king. Looking at her, he could only smile, thinking that here was a woman worthy of being called a bright star. She dwelled in a world filled with darkness, but there was a light to her. Maybe... maybe she could be his bright star?  
  
"It would be my delight, oh bright star of heaven." The smile would hopefully keep her from deciding that he was some sort of lunatic.  
  
Faith was definitely blushing now, almost glancing away. "You've been listening to too many poets."  
  
She'd blushed, maybe been embarrassed, but she hadn't pulled away. Maybe... maybe she could be his bright star. He would have to see how the future unfolded.  
  
end Bright Star. 


	6. the Day Denies

Author: Lucinda  
  
rating: pg/pg13  
  
main characters: Xander thinking about Cordelia  
  
disclaimer: I hold no legal rights to any characters from 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer' (creation of Joss Whedon & a whole lot of other people who aren't me)  
  
distribution: INeedAParrot, XanderZone, Jinni's Quickfics, Paula, anyone else please ask.  
  
notes: response to Jinni's Weekly Poetry Challenge (week 3, Poetry Quote below). Set in season 2, while Xander & Cordy are secretly sharing kisses, but nobody else knows.  
  
"SHE walks in beauty, like the night  
  
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;  
  
And all that's best of dark and bright  
  
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:  
  
Thus mellow'd to that tender light  
  
Which heaven to gaudy day denies."  
  
-- She walks in beauty, Byron  
  
  
  
  
  
It almost seemed impossible. For Cordelia Chase to have been kissing him. She'd spent years teasing him, calling him geek-boy and looser, ignoring Jesse and Willow. She was Cordelia, the Queen C of Sunnydale, beautiful, popular, the one who set the trends. And he was... just a guy.   
  
At first, he'd thought it was because they'd been trapped in the basement, about to be killed by the disgusting Turaka bug assassin. And then they'd been kissing as if it was the salvation of the world, or their lives depended on it.  
  
It had been a really good kiss.  
  
Part of him had been convinced that it was just... a one time bizarre miracle. Something that had happened just because they had been about to die. But it had happened again. They'd kissed, and he'd seen sparks, or it had felt like it anyhow. Everything had been more intense, more... just more.  
  
Now, they were kissing more often, generally in the utility closet, or the deep dark stacks of the library, or once under the football bleachers. She seemed to enjoy kissing him.  
  
But she didn't want anyone to know. Nobody else knew that they were kissing, that there was anything beyond a somewhat reluctant agreement to both try to keep the world from ending, or the town overrun by demons. She didn't want her friends - or were they followers? She didn't want her sheep to know about them.  
  
  
  
He didn't know quite what to think about that. Was he her dark, embarrassing secret? Some secret vice that she would never confess to in front of the people that she thought mattered? Or maybe she was just as confused and uncertain about all of this as he was.  
  
Sudden motion at the front of the classroom caught his attention, and Xander blinked, remembering that he was supposed to be listening to his English teacher talk about poetry. He'd best at least look like he was listening, and he could just zone out if it was dull.  
  
"Today, we are going to discuss poets. I'll be reading from works of some of the classic Romantic poets." With a small pause and a sip of water, the teacher continued. "She walks in beauty, like the night of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright meet in her aspect and her eyes: Thus mellow'd to that tender light which heaven to gaudy day denies. Those words, perhaps part of the most famous love poem..."  
  
Xander felt his focus slip as the quotation ended. It was perfect. It was Cordelia - beautiful, with hair like night and eyes like stars, and mysterious and baffling and amazing. That was the perfect way to describe her. Maybe there was something to this poetry stuff after all.  
  
He even wondered if the whole 'gaudy day denies' thing could apply to the sort of relationship with him and Cordy. 'They' wouldn't see the light of day, 'they' were a secret, one that she didn't want anyone to know. Could they have a future like that? Could she change her mind, let people know if once she got used to the idea?  
  
Maybe he didn't have any answers, maybe he didn't know how the future would turn out. But he could think, and dream, and hope. And maybe slip her a bit of that poem into her locker.  
  
end the Day Denies. 


	7. Cold Fire R

author: Lucinda  
  
rating: R  
  
main characters: Spike, Buffy  
  
disclaimer: I hold no legal rights to any characters or concepts from 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer' which was created by Joss Whedon.   
  
distribution: TNL, Paula, anyone else please ask first.  
  
note: this is in response to Jinni's Weekly Poetry Challenge #4  
  
Some say the world will end in fire;  
  
Some say in ice.  
  
From what I've tasted of desire  
  
I hold with those who favor fire.  
  
But if it had to perish twice,  
  
I think I know enough of hate  
  
To know that for destruction ice  
  
Is also great  
  
And would suffice.  
  
-'Fire and Ice' by Robert Lee Frost  
  
She'd haunted his dreams, invading, besieging his mind. The image of her hair swinging in the moonlight, her eyes, her white teeth... She was beautiful. He'd never tried to deny that much.  
  
But she was his enemy, the sworn destroyer and death of his kind. Her whole purpose was to kill his kind. The only feelings that she should inspire in him were fear, respect, and the urge to kill. To see that graceful body bent, bloody and broken, those bight eyes staring blankly at the uncaring moon.  
  
He tried so hard to hate her. It should have been easy, after all. She killed his minions, had corrupted his Sire to the point where the once mighty Angelus had become her sullen and brooding lapdog, obedient to her whims. She'd thwarted his plans, the damn girl had even dropped a burning building on him. He'd been crippled from that, nearly killed.  
  
Maybe the building had done something to his brain when it fell on him. Maybe that was the explanation. It had to be, because these feelings... they weren't natural.  
  
For weeks, he'd sat in that despicable chair, his body crippled, filled with twinging burning pain from her. He'd sat there, bitter and angry, images dancing through his mind of her defeated, bloody and broken at his feet. He would stand again, and then she would fall. He would destroy the Slayer, destroy Buffy.  
  
In retrospect, he probably should never have learned her name. Easier to hate someone that's just a title, just a killer.  
  
Gradually, the images dancing in his mind had changed. No longer did he envision her broken and dead at his feet, defeated in battle. Now, she was broken and bloodied in his bed, beaten and broken, submissive to his every whim and lust. He envisioned himself breaking her will, breaking her spirit. Taming her to his commands and pleasures. Of knowing every inch of that graceful body, with every carnal whim and image that crossed his mind.  
  
Now, Spike didn't want to kill Buffy the Vampire Slayer, he wanted to fuck her. Not to share gentle kisses and touches that became fiercer, harder with need and impatience as he'd done with his precious, unfaithful Drusilla. Not the slow seduction that had lured many pretty maids to his bed and their death. No, what he dreamed of now was brutal, a battle for dominance and power.  
  
Naturally, he always won those battles, in his imaginings.  
  
He'd decided to come back to this despicable town, back for her. Back to try to take Buffy, to break Buffy and make her into his pet, his pawn... His diversion. Someone warm and bloody to play with.  
  
  
  
For a brief, glorious time, it had even looked like it was going to work. He'd found the Gem, found a way to be invincible... almost. He'd lost the gem, and had tried to get it back. He should have just gone after her while she was busy gloating. Should have taken her then, dragged her off to have her then. He'd even had a good lair, hidden, secluded, well equipped with sturdy chains.  
  
He'd reacted instead of following a plan. Bluntly, he'd allowed his anger to make him stupid. He'd lost the Gem, pissed of his Sire again, and still didn't have her.  
  
It had only gotten worse from there.  
  
Those miserable soldiers had taken him, sent him to the ground with what had felt like lightning, almost like fire all over again. When he'd awoken in their lair, the place of painfully bright lights, they'd already done it. Somehow, they'd taken his ability to hunt, to feed and kill and shatter fragile mortal flesh and bone. He hated them for it.  
  
Half starved and desperate, he'd made a gamble. He'd gone right to the Watcher's place, gone right to Her. Offered to trade information for blood. For the chance to be near her, to try to work her under his thumb... and a few other parts.  
  
So far, she seemed to hate him.  
  
It wasn't quite ideal, and might make a few things harder for him, but as soon as he figured out how... as soon as he found a way around whatever they'd done to him... Buffy would be his.  
  
All he had to do was wait.  
  
end Cold Fire. 


	8. Bitter Sunrise

Author: Lucinda  
  
Rating: pg13 - Angst  
  
Main characters: Dawn, mentions of Xander, John (Pyro) and Bobby (Iceman)  
  
Disclaimer: I hold no legal rights to any characters or concepts from 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer' which was created by Joss Whedon. I hold no legal rights to any characters or concepts from X-Men the movie.  
  
Distribution: Twisting, Paula, anyone else please ask first.  
  
Note: this is in response to Jinni's Weekly Poetry Challenge #4 It goes very AU in Season 5.  
  
Warning: heavy angst.  
  
Some say the world will end in fire;  
  
Some say in ice.  
  
From what I've tasted of desire  
  
I hold with those who favor fire.  
  
But if it had to perish twice,  
  
I think I know enough of hate  
  
To know that for destruction ice  
  
Is also great  
  
And would suffice.  
  
-'Fire and Ice' by Robert Lee Frost  
  
She couldn't remember a time when she hadn't loved Xander. He'd always been there for her, always making sure that she was alright... or at least, it felt that way. Even though they'd only been in Sunnydale for five years, even though she hadn't known him before that. Dawn couldn't remember not loving him.  
  
Unfortunately, he'd never looked at her like that. Maybe it was because she was three years younger than he was. Maybe it was because of Buffy and her little shirts. Maybe it was because of Cordelia, and then Anya, his confident and bold girlfriends. Not at the same time, of course, but still... With someone like that, how would he ever notice Dawn Summers?  
  
But he'd been there when Glory had killed her mother, trying to weaken Buffy and keep her off balance. When the evil super-tramp had left her almost an orphan, her mother dead and her father off somewhere, Spain or Portugal or somewhere with his big breasted secretary that was barely older than Buffy. Xander had tried to help her, tried to help them both.  
  
He'd nearly been killed trying to defend her when those crazy Knights had come after her. He'd been in the hospital in critical condition from trying to prevent Glory's minions from kidnapping her when the Queen of skanks had drank Tara's mind and learned that Dawn was the guardian of something called 'the Key'.  
  
Glory had wanted to get the Key very badly. It had been her whole purpose in coming to Sunnydale. A slight change from the old standard - opening the Hellmouth. No, Glory just wanted the Key so she could go home. They might have been okay with that except for the parts where Glory ate people's minds, and her trip home might destroy the world.  
  
She'd been there, tied to the cold metal of the tower as Glory's minion had slashed open her stomach, and the only thing that had been going through her mind had been 'oh God save me' and 'I want Xander'.  
  
Buffy had plummeted to the ground, sealing Glory's portal with her blood, with her death. When the searing light had faded, Glory was gone. They didn't know if she was destroyed, or if she'd actually made it home, and they couldn't quite muster the energy to care.  
  
Buffy was dead.  
  
She'd barely been able to go through the motions of living as they'd buried Buffy. Xander had been there, pale, weak, barely released from the hospital, but he'd been there. He'd been there when they'd discovered from her father's lawyer that legal custody of her had been transferred to a cousin, some guy named Scott Summers who lived in New York, and she would be sent there immediately. Hank Summers hadn't even had the courage to tell her himself, hadn't even had the decency to show up for either funeral, not for her mom's, not for Buffy's.  
  
To be honest, it hadn't been Scott's idea. And he'd been fairly decent about the whole thing, considering. He'd met her at the airport, helped her find her luggage, and they'd gone back to the place where he lived, a school called Xavier's. On the way, he explained that he'd got permission for her to live there as well.  
  
He'd completely forgotten to mention that everybody in the whole school was a mutant.  
  
Dawn had adapted, managing to get over the shock fairly well. It wasn't as if there was anything wrong with a little genetic mutation, after all. And nobody here was trying to kill her, to kidnap her for evil rituals. Nobody here knew that she was anything other than Scott's cousin.  
  
The thing was, she had a pair of admirers. Two guys, maybe her age, maybe a year older, both cute in different ways. Bobby was nice, the sort of guy that you can take home to meet your parents, the sort of guy that you just know wouldn't dream of hurting you. And then there was John. John was... he was confident, and temperamental, and rebellious. He was sort of like Spike, with darker hair and a knack for playing with fire, actually. And they both seemed to spend a lot of time flirting with her.  
  
It was almost too good to be true. The idea that two cute guys would both be interested, both want her... It should have made her smile, should have delighted her.  
  
Except that she still felt frozen and numb inside from Buffy's death, still ached from loosing her mother. Still was afraid to let herself feel and care again.  
  
One day, things would change. The pain would fade, and from that, she would emerge anew: still Dawn Summers, but older, stronger, hopefully wiser. And on that day, she would have to make a choice. Fire, or Ice?  
  
end Bitter Sunrise. 


	9. Bewitching Beauty

Author: Lucinda  
  
rating: pg 13  
  
main characters: Catherine (Abbot) Madison, Severus Snape  
  
disclaimer: I hold no legal rights to any characters from 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer' (creation of Joss Whedon & a whole lot of other people who aren't me) or to any characters or concepts from the 'Harry Potter' novels, which are the creation of JK Rowling.  
  
distribution: Jinni's Quickfics, Paula, anyone else please ask.  
  
notes: response to Jinni's Weekly Poetry Challenge (week 3, Poetry Quote below). Set before BtVS started.  
  
"SHE walks in beauty, like the night  
  
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;  
  
And all that's best of dark and bright  
  
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:  
  
Thus mellow'd to that tender light  
  
Which heaven to gaudy day denies."  
  
-- She walks in beauty, Byron  
  
  
  
  
  
He should have avoided her. Catherine Abbot was devious, he'd seen that clearly since she'd first came to the school, just a year behind him. She'd been sorted into Slytherin, which should have warned him as well. Slytherins were ambitious people, never afraid to sacrifice a little to get what they wanted. He should have known that down to his bones, after all, he was also in Slytherin.  
  
She was pretty, with a charming smile that she'd started using on people in the last half of her fourth year, and thick, dark eyelashes that framed bright, intense eyes. A fellow might thing that he could see forever in those eyes, if he was one to believe in happy endings. Oh yes, Cathy was a charmer.  
  
He couldn't swear to it, but he'd suspected for a while that her many various 'study partners' were the ones who did the work, while she sat there, fluttering and cooing at them, and then turning in brilliant work. Maybe it was the way she never spoke up in class, or the way she was careful about who she studied with. He couldn't prove it, oh no... Like he'd said, Cathy was devious. Devious and subtle, with just enough respect for the rules, or rather, for the consequences of breaking them that the evidence against her was always sketchy, and she always had an alibi.  
  
Merlin knew that he'd been her alibi a few times, in his sixth year. She would meet him in the astronomy tower, to 'help with a few charms'... and she would grab him, pulling his lips to hers, always tasting of strawberries and something else, some dark magic that he couldn't name. She was a daring, passionate intense minx even then.  
  
What uncertain, half outcast boy would have been able to refuse her? Certainly not him, although he'd known that she didn't love him. He would content himself with whatever scraps she would toss his way.  
  
It wasn't as if she'd ever asked him for anything else.  
  
Maybe it should have been a warning to him when he started to feel tired more easily. When a day of heavy casting would make his head throb and his muscles feel quivery. When his Winter practical exams left him with a stabbing pain in his head that lasted for three days.  
  
Failing that, maybe he should have noticed when her chosen study partners started to get pale after a lot of magic, when the Slytherin Beater got knocked off his broom by a slow bludger from behind that a second year student should have been able to avoid. When the Ravenclaw Prefect who'd been courting her, making sly mentions of his prosperous family home seemed to become a little more sickly.  
  
But no, he'd not realized. Maybe he hadn't wanted to realize anything. Had the few scraps of time, secret moments hidden by night in the Astronomy tower been that important to him? Had he been so... desperately enslaved by his passions that he hadn't noticed what she was doing, hadn't realized what she was capable of?  
  
Unfortunately, he had been.  
  
He'd returned from the Holiday break to learn that Catherine Abbot had been thrown out of the school for seducing the Potions Master. She'd then eloped with a pleasant enough, if a bit slow, wizard from Hogsmeade. Last any of her many admirers had heard, Catherine Abbot - now Catherine Madison - had moved to America, to a small town in California, a place of sunshine and clear skies.  
  
Years later, he learned about Justin Madison's unfortunate and tragic loss of his magic. Nobody had any official explanation for such a frightening tragedy. It couldn't have been the place they lived, because Catherine's abilities were as strong as ever, if not stronger. There was no known potion or illness that would strip a wizard of his magic and still leave him in apparent good health. Everybody was baffled, and frightened, if they knew of it at all.  
  
But Severus Snape knew what had happened. Not the how, of course, but he knew that somehow, Catherine had been responsible. Had somehow found a way to steal a wizard's powers as she had stolen their ideas. It was a terrible suspicion, which became a terrible certainty, yet still remained a baffling mystery. After all, he had no idea how such a devious and despicable feat could be accomplished.  
  
Perhaps the most troubling rumor was the fact that she had a child, a daughter. Would her child have magic like her mother, or be mysteriously powerless, like Catherine's husband? What would become of little Amy Madison?  
  
end Bewitching Beauty. 


	10. Man Enough?

Author: Lucinda  
  
rating: pg13  
  
main characters: Jason, Faith  
  
disclaimer: I hold no legal rights to any characters that you recognize.  
  
distribution: Jinni's Quickfics, Paula, anyone else please ask.  
  
notes: response to Jinni's Weekly Poetry Challenge (week 3, Poetry Quote below). Set post-season 4 BtVS, less certain for AB.  
  
"SHE walks in beauty, like the night  
  
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;  
  
And all that's best of dark and bright  
  
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:  
  
Thus mellow'd to that tender light  
  
Which heaven to gaudy day denies."  
  
-- She walks in beauty, Byron  
  
  
  
  
  
She was beautiful, in the same sort of way that a lounging panther was beautiful. Her dark hair fell in ripples, her skin covered sleek and strong muscles, and she had this... attitude. One that said she was the top of the pecking order, and if you really were dumb enough to argue, she'd show you why.  
  
Part of him wanted to know why. Part of him just wanted to roll over and have her... well, he had a whole list of things he'd love to do with her, and he'd welcome any suggestions. Especially if they involved nudity and skin contact.  
  
Jason didn't know why she was here, at Danse Macabre, or why she'd even came to St Louis, considering that her accent placed her as coming from Boston or there abouts. But considering the way she danced, or even just loitered around, he didn't much care. Granted, there were other people that wore less, in some cases a lot less, but... Those tight leather pants, the boots with heels solid enough to use as a weapon, and the sheer shirt over a black lace bra... he felt like throwing back his head and howling. He hadn't, but only because he didn't want to freak her out or get tossed from the club. Being the owner's pomme de sang could only let him get away with so much, after all.  
  
Finally, it occurred to him that there were more productive things that he could do than stand here, watching her from across the club. He could try... talking to her. Running his hands over the net shirt and the cut out leather pants, he sauntered over towards her, gazing up slightly to meet her eyes. Dark, gorgeous sexy eyes. "Hi. I'm Jason, and I thought maybe I could..."  
  
"Come over here and flirt instead of staring at me from over there?" Her teasing interruption might have chased away someone else.  
  
With a small shrug, he grinned at her. "Basically."  
  
She laughed, her eyes sparkling like dark pearls. "And the fact that I haven't left with some other half naked stud isn't telling you something?"  
  
  
  
"Tells me they weren't what you were looking for." He shrugged, letting his blue eyes meet her dark ones. "Maybe I'll have better luck?"  
  
She leaned forward, one burgundy painted nail pressing into the dip under his throat. "What if I said I play a bit rough?"  
  
Jason felt a little rumble in his chest, as close as a wolf could come to a purr. Other parts of him were reacting as well. "Is that supposed to scare me away? That won't work too well in this club."  
  
She stepped closer, her body brushing against his. "Hmm... Maybe you're right. Think you're man enough to handle me?"  
  
"I'd love to find out." He leaned forward, his hands ending up on the wall beside her. If he were taller, it would be looming, as he leaned closer, breathing in her scent, the leather, and her own obvious interest.  
  
She moved forward, her body now pressed against him, and certain to feel just how interested she had him. She nipped his earlobe, hard enough to sting, but not enough to draw blood. Her words were barely more than a breath of shaped air. "Maybe I should ask if you're wolf enough to keep me satisfied?"  
  
Jason could feel his body trembling with a mix of excitement, lust and intimidation. She was definitely a dominant personality. "Want to find out?"  
  
"Yeah, let's leave this place. We can find somewhere more... private." Her smile was full of promises.  
  
"I know just the place." Jason could barely wait. Tonight was going to be something.  
  
end Man Enough? 


	11. Lift to d' Morgue

Author: Lucinda  
  
rating: pg13  
  
main character(s): Kendra, 'Ted'  
  
disclaimer: I hold no legal rights to any characters that you recognize.  
  
distribution: TNL, Paula, anyone else ask.  
  
note: for Jinni's Poetry Quote Challenge #1. AU for Kendra, could be almost any time for 'Ted' – which is an alias for Edward.  
  
"Because I could not stop for Death,  
  
He kindly stopped for me;  
  
The carriage held but just ourselves  
  
And Immortality. "  
  
-- Emily Dickinson - Because I could not stop for Death  
  
  
  
Kendra looked at the stars overhead. They seemed so much like the ones that she'd always known, as if things hadn't changed. As if that demon-witch hadn't attacked her and Mr. Zabuto, flinging them into a swirling vortex of green and gold energy. A vortex that has spat them out on a small island.  
  
They'd assumed that it was a simple trans-location. That all they'd have to do would be to simply figure out where they'd landed, and travel until they were home.  
  
Until she'd found a newspaper. Until she'd read headlines with unfamiliar names, where powerful politicians debated a recent law that had legalized vampires in America. She'd almost fainted. The rest of the paper had been filled with other things that had told them that they weren't just elsewhere, they were in a whole alternate world of elsewhere.  
  
They'd ended up in Nevada, establishing a home near Las Vegas. There weren't nearly as many problems here, with demons being unheard of, and the shape shifters and vampires both being... different. Very different. They'd had to learn things all over again, driven by panic and suspicion.  
  
Now, she was the appointed Executioner for the state of Nevada, and any vampire that couldn't behave in Las Vegas met it's end through her hands. Same job, new place. She even got to work with the police now, instead of having to hide from them.  
  
Unfortunately, she needed to get to one of the multiple city morgues tonight. There had been a few killings, most likely a vampire, and two victims had stated in their wills that they wanted to be staked and their hearts removed if there was any suspicion that they could have been turned. Which was where she came in. If she could get to the place on time. Mr. Zabuto had the car, and was not back yet from picking up the new shipment of silver blades.  
  
Shaking her head, Kendra began to walk along the road. She would get there eventually. And most likely, nobody would stop to pick her up, due to the scarcity of people wearing long coats in this season. Personally, she would have left it behind, but people tended to get so nervous seeing some weapons...  
  
"You look like you could use a lift, little lady." The words carried the local drawl, a soft blurring accent to the words. He had pale eyes, like the winter sky, and short very blond hair. His jeep looked worn, splattered with mud and bits of blood. A rifle muzzle was visible, just peeking up from behind the drivers seat.  
  
She looked at him, extending her senses a little. He was human, but also dangerous, a hunter. But he didn't seem to be intending her any harm. "I could use one, if you are making the offer. I need to get to d' morgue."  
  
"Not the usual place for a pretty gal to go." He looked at her, his eyes slowly moving over her body. Not in the way that said he was imagining them naked and sweaty, but in the way that said he was searching for weapons.  
  
"I have an appointment. A couple bodies." She shrugged, the slender braids shifting over the leather of the coat like a scattering of snakes. "I am Kendra the... appointed executioner of de vampires."  
  
His eyes widened slightly, and he looked at her again, a small smile sliding over his face, but not reaching those cold pale eyes. "You look a bit young for it. I'm Ted Forrester. Happens that I'm headed that way myself, if you'd like a lift."  
  
"It's what I've been trained for all me life." She walked around the jeep, opening the passenger side door. "A lift would be welcome."  
  
The trip into Vegas was quiet, with only a few questions from him to clarify which of the several morgues held her 'appointment'. The whole time, his voice and posture claimed that he was nothing more than a pleasant and charming guy, sociable and well mannered. Not once did his eyes hold any warmth.  
  
Naturally, things couldn't continue in such a calm manner. Their arrival at the morgue was calm enough, but as they entered the building, Kendra tensed. She could feel the vampires. As she started to hurry to the stairs, one hand pulling a weapon that was in the fuzzy area between a long knife and a short sword, the steel blended with silver and blessed by both a Catholic priest and a Navajo medicine man, she spoke to him. "We must hurry, there are vampires below."  
  
"And you just assume that I want in on this?" There was finally true emotion in his voice, a blend of amusement and curiosity.  
  
Kendra didn't even look at him. "You are a hunter, are you not?"  
  
"Close enough." A gun's safety clicked off in accent to his words.  
  
One of the morgue attendants was crouched outside the fire door, his eyes wide, and one arm bleeding from what could only be claw marks. Blood had splattered over his clothing and onto his face. He had slid down the wall, just sitting there and shivering from shock.  
  
"I guess dey are early risers." Kendra gave the man a quick glance, checking for any bite marks. The vampires here could enthrall their victims, turning someone needing rescue into yet another minion.  
  
"They killed Joe." The whisper slipped out, and he looked at her. "Just.. ripped him open."  
  
Kendra nodded, unsurprised. Just because many of the vampires here had learned to hide what they were behind acceptable behavior did not change the fact that they were monsters. "Which means there is only one thing to do - kill dem all."  
  
Carefully, she unlocked the fire door, more sensing than seeing Ted ready himself beside her. As she pulled the door open, he set off a burst of gunfire across the room, forcing the four vampires to step back, revealing the nearly dismembered corpse of the other morgue attendant. Kendra leapt in, her blade already swinging. Her strength was equal to theirs, she was confident that she was a better fighter, and their eyes would hold no power over her. It had been too long since she'd had a serious challenge, this would be good enough. Four blood crazed vampires operating wholly on instinct, which she had to prevent from getting out of the room.  
  
Ted's gunfire severed the head from one of them, even as she sent another to the ground, a solid bit of sharpened wood that had been soaked in holy water embedded in his heart. Two down. The third, a once pretty woman with bronzed skin and red brown hair, lunged at Ted, cackling with laughter as his last bullet hit her shoulder. The laughter stopped as Kendra's blade severed her spine, sending her crashing to the ground. The fourth tried to run past them, perhaps in an effort to escape, perhaps seeking the fresh blood of the other attendant. Kendra tackled him, sending him crashing into the wall head first, slamming him into it again to stun him long enough to sever the head.  
  
After that, it was simply a matter to ensure that death was final by decapitating all of them. The vampires here were a bit harder to kill, best not to take any chances.  
  
"Are you injured?" She glanced over at Ted, wondering how much of the blood over him was his, how much the vampires, and if any had been from the victim.   
  
"A few bruises. Nothing serious." He stood up, still glaring at his gun. "Could have sworn I had another clip..."  
  
Kendra shook her head, half amazed that anyone would take a gun to kill vampires. "It is good that you were not harmed."  
  
He looked back at her, and there was something in his smile, not true pleasure, but respect and something else. "I'm glad that I gave you a lift tonight, Kendra."  
  
end A Lift to d' Morgue. 


	12. Pick Your Poison

Author: Lucinda  
  
rating: pg13  
  
main characters: Xander, mention of Cordelia and Faith  
  
disclaimer: I hold no legal rights to any characters or concepts from 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer' which was created by Joss Whedon.  
  
distribution: Twisting, Paula, anyone else please ask first.  
  
note: this is in response to Jinni's Weekly Poetry Challenge #4 Set season 3.  
  
Some say the world will end in fire;  
  
Some say in ice.  
  
From what I've tasted of desire  
  
I hold with those who favor fire.  
  
But if it had to perish twice,  
  
I think I know enough of hate  
  
To know that for destruction ice  
  
Is also great  
  
And would suffice.  
  
-'Fire and Ice' by Robert Lee Frost  
  
Xander sat in his gloomy bedroom, contemplating what he already knew was an arrogant, presumptious Bad Idea. He was running a mental comparison between Faith and Cordelia; something that he already knew would somehow cause trouble. Cordelia, the person that he'd sort of been involved with for a while, and Faith, the person that he had enjoyed a night of amazing fabulous sex with. Of course, Cordy hadn't wanted any of her friends to know they were... anything, and Faith had used him and thrown him right out of her motel room before he'd even been able to get his clothing back on, but...  
  
Well, nothing was perfect, right?  
  
  
  
As he sat there alone in his room, Xander was certain of one thing, well, maybe two if you included the feeling that he was somehow going to pay for this. He didn't like to be alone. He didn't like not having a pretty girl to smile at, to wrap his arms around, and to dance with. He wanted to have someone that he could smile at again, someone who's hand he could hold.  
  
Cordelia or Faith? He could probably only try to win one of them over, convince one of them to appreciate his Xander-ish charms. And he had to choose wisely. If he fumbled this, either one was capable of making his life miserable. And assuming she didn't, trying with one and failing would almost certainly guarantee failure if he tried with the other one. No pressure here, no, none at all...  
  
Sometimes, the life of a guy sucked. And the fact that he was still a teen only made it worse. Was it really worth all that potential pain to try for Cordelia or Faith? Maybe it would be simpler to just try to pick up someone else?  
  
Except that every time he tried to pick up a girl, she ended up not safe. Do not forget the lessons of Miss French and Ampata. Although the whole thing with the evil giant bug lady wouldn't be a problem anymore... He realized that he had that sort of distracted grin on his face again. The same one he got every time he thought about that night, with him and Faith in the motel room.  
  
Faith had been... well, they'd... wow. Sex. Yeah. Just thinking about it left him using little bitty words. That had been something that had seared itself into his memory. But the tossing him out before he'd even finished putting his clothing back on had to be a sign that all was not good.  
  
Cordelia had never tossed him out naked onto the streets of Sunnydale. They'd never had really fantastic wild sex, just nearly explosive arguments that had led to passionate kisses. And there was the down side that she acted like she was almost ashamed of him, as if he was definitely a few steps down the social ladder from her. He really didn't like that feeling.  
  
The ending with Cordelia had been loud angry shouts, furious rage and betrayal. Granted, he did sort of deserve that, but... Couldn't he grovel enough to convince her to give him a second chance? He could grovel, really. On the other hand, Faith.... that ending had been cold. She'd just handed him the rest of his things, shoved him out the door, and shut it firmly behind him. Very cold.  
  
Maybe he should just decide if it would be better to die from fire, or from ice?  
  
end Pick Your Poison 


	13. So Many Things Unspoken

author: Lucinda  
  
rating: pg13  
  
main character(s): Giles, mention of Jenny Calendar  
  
disclaimer: I hold no legal rights to any character from Buffy the Vampire Slayer, created by Joss Whedon  
  
distribution: Jinni, Paula, anyone else ask.  
  
note: Jinni's weekly poetry challenge #7. Set in season 2, just after Jenny's death.  
  
REMEMBER me when I am gone away,  
  
Gone far away into the silent land;  
  
When you can no more hold me by the hand,  
  
Nor I half turn to go, yet turning stay.  
  
Remember me when no more day by day  
  
You tell me of our future that you plann'd:  
  
Only remember me; you understand  
  
It will be late to counsel then or pray.  
  
Yet if you should forget me for a while  
  
And afterwards remember, do not grieve:  
  
For if the darkness and corruption leave  
  
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,  
  
Better by far you should forget and smile  
  
Than that you should remember and be sad.  
  
Christina Georgina Rossetti - Remember  
  
* * * * *  
  
  
  
Giles sat in his chair, facing the window. His eyes were unfocused, and he paid no attention to the lawn outside his window. He wasn't seeing that anyhow.  
  
His mind was lost in memories. Memories of a dark haired woman with sparkling eyes, a sense of adventure, and the owner of that still baffling little twisting bit of metal. She'd said it wasn't an earring, but he'd never quite got an answer what it was.  
  
Jenny Calendar, computer teacher at Sunnydale High. The woman that he'd been dating, been entertaining hopes and dreams, and fantasies about. Some of those fantasies had proved quite attainable, others... Others had been cut brutally short, rendered impossible by the hands of Angelus. Jenny Calendar, Janna Kalderash... regardless of which name one used for the woman, she was dead now.  
  
He missed her. Missed her smile, her teasing, her soft, almost seductive chuckle. He'd even found himself missing her efforts to convert him to the computer.  
  
He'd been half in love with her, at least. He'd been entertaining thoughts of marriage, of children, of a future together.  
  
But those had been before. Before Angelus had emerged. Before they'd discovered that she was Janna Kalderash, member of the gypsy clan that had cursed Angel, before learning how much she'd been hiding from them all. He'd felt so betrayed just then, sick and furious and hurt...  
  
She was gone now. Killed and left on his bed in a scattering of rose petals, as if in preparation for some romantic interlude. He'd even been the main suspect in her death, because of that little detail. Damn vampire and his twisted games.  
  
She was gone, and he'd never be able to talk to her again. Never be able to tell her that he understood now why she'd kept her heritage a secret, that he understood her fear.  
  
Never tell her about his feelings for her.  
  
Never again would she rile him up with glib lines about bent corners and coffee stains on his old texts. No more dragging him to monster truck rallies or football games. No more cuddling up together in front of a crackling fire with mugs of spiced cider.  
  
Had she known how much she'd come to matter to him? Had she known that he cared before her death? Or had she died thinking that she was hated, reviled by all of them for her secrets, as she had been by Buffy? Had she known that she would be missed?  
  
Why hadn't he tried to tell her? Why hadn't he sought her out, caught her for a moment in the teacher's lounge? Why hadn't he ever told her how she'd crept into him, marking a place in his mind and heart that would always belong to her?  
  
But that question didn't matter anymore. She was dead, and he couldn't change anything. He'd been the fool that hadn't confessed that he cared, and now he'd lost any chance for anything with her again. There would be no chance to rebuild a relationship, no more teasing, flirting smiles. No more Jenny.  
  
He hadn't even been able to say those few words. Hadn't been able to let her know what she meant. He'd been a fool, and now he sat alone with his regrets.  
  
end So Many Things Unspoken 


	14. Unforgotten

author: Lucinda  
  
rating: pg13  
  
main character(s): Xander, mention of Ampata (the Incan mummy-girl)  
  
disclaimer: I hold no legal rights to any character from Buffy the Vampire Slayer, created by Joss Whedon.  
  
distribution: Jinni, Paula, anyone else ask.  
  
note: Jinni's weekly poetry challenge #7. Set in season 2, shortly after the episode "Inca Mummy Girl"  
  
REMEMBER me when I am gone away,  
  
Gone far away into the silent land;  
  
When you can no more hold me by the hand,  
  
Nor I half turn to go, yet turning stay.  
  
Remember me when no more day by day  
  
You tell me of our future that you plann'd:  
  
Only remember me; you understand  
  
It will be late to counsel then or pray.  
  
Yet if you should forget me for a while  
  
And afterwards remember, do not grieve:  
  
For if the darkness and corruption leave  
  
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,  
  
Better by far you should forget and smile  
  
Than that you should remember and be sad.  
  
Christina Georgina Rossetti - Remember  
  
* * * * *  
  
  
  
Xander sat in the backyard, staring up at the stars. A crescent moon was peeking over the line of trees and rooftops, casting a bit more light over the yard. It wasn't safe to be here, not out at night alone in Sunnydale, home of the Hellmouth.  
  
But there had been a show on, something about the Incan people, and it had stirred up memories. Memories of Ampata, although that probably hadn't been her real name. The mummy girl that had posed as an exchange student, charmed her way into his heart, and nearly killed his best friend.  
  
Ampata. He could have loved her, if not for that little need she had to suck the life out of people. Maybe he'd loved her anyhow, he knew that he'd cared. But he couldn't just let her go on killing people.   
  
She'd been beautiful, intelligent, charming... She'd laughed at his jokes, and thought he was funny. She'd liked him. Since there had been nothing to gain in pretending such a thing, then it could only mean that she'd really liked him, that someone that pretty had been interested in him.  
  
Of course, the path of love is never easy over the Hellmouth. Ampata was lovely, charming, intelligent... and needed to such the life out of people to continue her own existence. Sort of like a vampire, but without the whole blood factor. And as much as he'd like Ampata, as much potential as there had been to finally find someone that was interested... She'd had to go.  
  
And that hurt, more than he'd ever imagined it could. To not only have to take down such a pretty girl, someone that just wanted to live and enjoy life, but who wanted to do all of that with him... Might have been easier to just carve out some little bit of his insides and toss it into a fire. Sometimes, doing the right thing sucked beyond all words.  
  
He wondered what sort of life she'd had before, when she was alive. When she'd lived among her people. Had she had boyfriends? Or maybe they would have been called suitors then. Had there been loving parents to take care of her? Brothers and sisters? Was she part of a large family, or a small one, or even an orphan? What sort of career did she have, or want to have? So many things that he didn't know about her... He didn't even know what her real name had been.  
  
She'd been such a vibrant person, someone so intense and alive... That sort of reminded him of Buffy a bit. She'd been smart and adaptable, sort of like Willow. And she'd liked him, unlike everyone else... He'd never met anyone like her before. And he wasn't certain if he'd be able to forgive himself for helping kill her.  
  
Ampata... may her soul rest at peace. He would never be able to forget her.  
  
end Unforgotten. 


	15. Broken Posts

author: Lucinda  
  
rating: pg13  
  
main character(s): Gwendolyn Post, Lucius Malfoy  
  
disclaimer: I hold no legal rights to Gwendolyn Post or the Council of Watchers from Buffy the Vampire Slayer (the evil fire throwing glove woman) created by Joss Whedon. I hold no legal rights to Lucius Malfy or Diagon Alley, creation of JK Rowling.  
  
distribution: Jinni, Paula, anyone else ask.  
  
note: Jinni's weekly poetry challenge #9.  
  
"He was my north, my south, my east and west;  
  
My working week, my Sunday best;  
  
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song.  
  
I thought that love would last forever, ... I was wrong. "  
  
-- W.H. Auden, 'Song IX' from 'Twelve Songs'  
  
* * * * *  
  
Gwendolyn Post stood in the living room of her London flat, a heavy book threatening to fall from her hand. Her eyes burned with the tears that she didn't want to shed, didn't want to have burning in her eyes. Not over him.  
  
Not for Lucius Malfoy. Not for her pale lover.  
  
She'd met him by pure chance, just sort of bumped into him as she'd been chortling gleefully over her acquisition of a real measure of powdered dragon's scales that she'd picked up from some loony woman with too much jewelry. They'd both nearly fallen to the cold sidewalk, and she'd looked up, the apology already forming. The words had frozen as she met those eyes. Glorious pale eyes like the full moon. "Oh, I'm so sorry, I wasn't looking..."  
  
His own words had fallen away as well. "What on earth could you..."  
  
For a few moments, they stood there, and Gwendolyn could feel her stomach fluttering. Was it from the near fall, or from his striking eyes, his long pale hair? It was almost as if time had slowed around them.  
  
Slowly, she lifted her free hand, smiling at him as she hoped desperately that the expression looked real, looked natural. "I'm Gwendolyn."  
  
He'd smiled, shifting the silver serpent headed cane to his off hand as he lifted her fingers for a brush of his lips over her knuckles. "I am Lucius Malfoy. It's a delightful surprise to meet someone like yourself."  
  
They'd gone to a lovely tea shop to settle their nerves, and sipped at fragrant brews and shared harmless small talk. Discussion of the weather, of the comparative values, flavors and flaws of herbal teas as compared to the traditional black tea. Of the difficulty traversing crowded streets with packages. Harmless things.  
  
They'd encountered each other again, walking in Kensington Park one evening. She'd smiled, and offered a tentative wave of her fingers. He'd blinked a moment before smiling at her, meandering towards her with a scarf of dark green wrapped around his throat, and a long black coat to ward away the chill of the evening air.  
  
"Gwendolyn... I hadn't expected to see you again." He'd murmured, stopping just at the edge of her personal space, letting the scent of his cologne, something subtly alluring and exotic and entirely masculine wrap around her.  
  
She'd almost taken a step back, but she'd resisted, instead smiling at him. "Sometimes the unexpected happens. You can't plan out everything in life, after all."  
  
They'd kept bumping into each other, and somehow, she wasn't quite certain when or how, it had gone from coincidence and half sought opportunities to picnics and dates. They gradually had shifted from meandering across parks to attending theatrical productions, and the occasional steeplechase. Gradually, those gave way to romantic dinners, and moonlight kisses.  
  
Within four months, they were lovers. She'd never met anyone so... she couldn't even put it into words, but Gwendolyn had never met anyone quite like Lucius before. In some ways, he reminded her of some of the younger and more interesting Watchers that she'd met, but he wasn't from one of the Watcher families.  
  
She didn't care that he wasn't a Watcher, didn't care that her father would never have appoved. Lucius made her feel so wonderfully alive and appreciated... and he helped her learn more about magic and mystical artifacts. No terribly complex spells or potions, but she was learning assorted little things here and there. Ways to know when someone was lying, or to bring things to hand from a distance. Scrying and a little divination, concealments and repairs... such simple things, really.  
  
Lucius had even showed her to Diagon Alley, the hub of the true magical community of London, and taken her to get a real magical wand - a ten inch holly with a core of dragon heartstrings. They'd celebrated that night with chocolates and kisses.  
  
He'd helped her to get the flat. Using some sort of influence, he'd managed to get her past a two year waiting list, and directly into this nice flat. They'd furnished it together, and he'd practically been living there with her. His influence was everywhere, from the black leather couch with the deep green pillows to the tapestries on the walls, done in the medieval style. Even the charming fire place, not large enough for Floo powder travel, but the perfect size for magical communication. He'd had a silver snake placed on it, it's coils just perfect to rest a pair of wands on.  
  
The snake was gone. Both the wand rest, and surely Lucius as well. The book fell to the floor, narrowly missing her foot. Lucius was gone. He'd left her.  
  
Why? She hadn't noticed any signs, no warnings. They hadn't been arguing. The sex had been great. She hadn't been trying to make any new demands on him. None of the neighbors had objected to anything. Why would he just... remove himself from her life?  
  
Had he... had he decided that she simply wasn't magical enough, after all that they'd shared? Had one of her relatives decided to threaten him away? Or... could it be... had it all been just a game to him?  
  
No, surely not. Surely what they'd shared had been... had been as special to him as it had been to her. Surely he cared about her. This was just... just a minor setback. She could.. they could work around it.  
  
If she could manage something impressive enough, spectacular enough, then nothing and nobody would stand between her and Lucius. They could be together again.  
  
Gwendolyn slowly smiled as she thought of the perfect lever. In America, there was a Slayer... well, two Slayers. Neither of them had Watchers that the Council approved of. If she could somehow manage to gain control... no, guidance of a Slayer... Well, who would stand against her and her charge?  
  
Yes, that would be just about perfect.  
  
end Broken Posts. 


	16. My Lady Anya

Author: Lucinda  
  
rating: pg13/16  
  
main character(s): Xander, Anya  
  
disclaimer: any character, situation or concept from Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel the series is the creation of Joss Whedon and his writing staff.  
  
distribution: Jinni, Cat, Paula - anyone else ask  
  
notes: Poetry Challenge Week #8 AU post s4. No Dawn-Key-Glory arc, no First evil, nothing past s4. Fill in other assorted dangers and excitement.  
  
  
  
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun,  
  
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;  
  
If snow be white, why then her breasts be dun;  
  
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.  
  
I have seen roses damask'd, red and white,  
  
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;  
  
And in some perfumes there is more delight  
  
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.  
  
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know  
  
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;  
  
I grant I never saw a goddess go,  
  
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground.  
  
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare  
  
As any she belied with false compare.  
  
~Shakespeare, Sonnet 130  
  
  
  
He'd never have figured that his life would turn out like this. In high school, he thought he knew how it would all end. He'd have his thing with Cordelia, she'd eventually dump him for someone with more status and he'd try to move on. Willow and Oz would be together, as happy as could be expected when you had to lock your loved one up every month. Buffy would get over Deadboy, and move on to someone with a pulse. And maybe Giles and Joyce would come clean and admit that they'd been having an affair ever since that whole candy thing. It hadn't turned out like that at all. Well, the part with Joyce and Giles had come out, but only when Buffy's caught her mom with a home pregnancy test and wigged out.  
  
Oz had run off with some she-wolf singer from another band. Willow was sharing an apartment with Tara and Michael, both of whom were also witches. He wasn't certain that he wanted to ask about the sleeping arrangements - sometimes he thought there was something going on there, and other days he figured that was impossible.  
  
Buffy had dated Riley Finn for a while. Well, first she'd been suckered by Parker Abrams, but everyone was just trying to forget him. Then, it was Riley, the apparently all American good guy. Except when he donned his camouflage uniform and went seeking demons to experiment on for the Initiative. Somedays, Xander missed him, and other days he just felt relieved that after ADAM, the survivors had been relocated, the bodies hidden, and the base filled in. Spike had even almost went out heroically, helping Buffy take down ADAM. Granted, it would have been a lot more heroic without the shouts of 'You promised this damn chip would be removed you bloody ass!' but hey, ADAM was still dead. And so was Spike. Buffy was getting over it.  
  
As for himself... Well, that was where things went entirely different than he'd imagined. Cordelia had dumped him, but that was after he'd found himself sneaking kisses with Willow. He was still fairly certain that the magicked chocolate had something to do with it... And instead of being alone and miserable...  
  
A slender arm slid around his waist, pulling him back a little bit. HE could feel her naked breasts pressed against the skin of his back. "Come back to bed, Xander."  
  
Smiling, he turned around, meeting her eyes. Anya would never be the conventional image of beauty... or at least not this century. Her eyes were pretty, although they sort of reminded him a bit of petrified wood. Her hair was it's own sort of brownish blondish color, not quite straight and not curled, falling like a battered fringe around her shoulders. She had freckles over her body, and several scars, some of which he knew the cause of, and others that were a mystery. Anya, who smelled of sage and powdered dragonweed instead of some expensive designer perfume.  
  
"Ahn..." Her name was a joyful murmur from his heart. She was wonderful. Maybe a bit eccentric, a bit rough around the edges, but she was his, and he was hers.  
  
"Come back to bed now, Xander. I have this idea that I want to try, with a feather and a blindfold..." Her eyes were filled with sensual promises, and one hand held a deep green plume, which she waggled in front of his nose.  
  
Grinning, he caught her wrist, pulling the feather away from his face. "Not the nose, or you'll make me sneeze."  
  
The feather ran down his chest, tickling. Her smile was almost wicked. "Fair enough... it wasn't your nose that's supposed to be stimulated anyhow."  
  
Xander made a noise - a groan would have been a nice, manly description, but it was actually a bit more like a gasp or a whimper. "Ahn... I'mmm alright, back to bed."  
  
His last serious thought was that while this wasn't the life that he'd expected, it was a lot better in some ways. He had Anya, and they were happy together. What more should he ask for?  
  
* * * * * * *  
  
Morning brought a sense of peace to him, as had become normal. Every morning was another night that the world hadn't ended, that fighting evil hadn't killed him. Another night that he'd been Xander, not the disappointing spawn of Tony Harris. For a few moments, Xander just looked out the window, watching the sun rise over the row of houses.  
  
Things seemed so fresh at dawn, so full of possibilities. It was the time for beginnings. The perfect time for his plan.  
  
Smiling, he went to the back porch, and carefully snipped a pair of roses from the bush - a dark pink, streaked with red. Quietly, he made his way back inside, stopping at his jacket before entering the bedroom.  
  
Anya was sprawled over the bed, her limbs out as she claimed the space for her own. Her hair was a half tangled cloud behind her, and he could see the line of freckles that marched along the bottom of her right breast. Smiling, he moved closer. He ran one rose along the bottom of her foot, watching her toes twitch and hearing the little noises that she made. Slowly, he ran the flower up her leg, circling her navel, caressing her breasts with the supple petals. Anya was almost purring by the time she was fully awake.  
  
"Xander..." She looked at him, her eyes filled with desire. "What a way to wake up..."  
  
Xander grinned, sitting beside her on the bed, the little box held in one hand. "Anya? Would you... I wanted to ask you... If you'd... well, so much for the words I practiced for an hour. Marry me?"  
  
Then her arms were around him, and his lap was filled with passionate naked Anya as she covered his face with kisses, soft 'yes yes yes's falling from her lips.  
  
It was a good thing that he didn't have to work on Saturdays.  
  
end My Lady Anya. 


	17. Swimming With the Big Fish

Author: Lucinda  
  
Rating: pg/pg13  
  
Main character Lindsey McDonald  
  
Disclaimer: If you recognize the, they are not mine. Anyone from BtVS or A:tS is the creation of Joss Whedon.  
  
Distribution: notes response to Jinni's Poetry Quote challenge, week #10. Set before his appearance in Angel: the Series.  
  
Dedicated to Imzadi - I hope you like it.  
  
  
  
Jumping off the highboard-  
  
Into the marshmallow pool.  
  
Swimming through the greenbeans,  
  
I'm NOBODY'S fool.  
  
Bouncing on a rubber stamp  
  
Trying to print your name.  
  
Hoping hard to make the score-  
  
Who says life's a game???  
  
--Jen LeMaire, "Fish" (c) 1990  
  
He'd worked hard to get through law school, to do more than just squeak by. To succeed, to shine. Lindsey McDonald was tired of being 'one of those McDonald brats', the youngest in a large family of people that enjoyed taking risks, flirting with danger, and pushing the limits.  
  
He was going to be somebody. He would make certain that the name of Lindsey McDonald would get a little respect.  
  
The bar had been last week. Naturally, he'd passed, the only acceptable result after the long hard effort that had preceded it. Failure at this point was not acceptable. Now, he was interviewing for a job. The degree in Law and the legal permissions to practice wouldn't get him very far without a job.  
  
Several places had responded to his resumes, and he'd had a couple interviews. Today though, today he would be interviewing at Wolfram and Hart, one of the largest firms in Los Angeles. Getting a job there might not make him particularly special in the company hierarchy, but... talk about room for advancement. Somewhere like that, the only way to go would be up. And he was a man with ambition.  
  
He had talked with a pair of people in the Human Resources department, answering their questions about his education, and why he thought that he could do well as part of the Wolfram and Hart law firm. He wasn't certain at first, but he gradually came to the near certain conclusion that the man in the dark gray suit was deliberately trying to make him loose his temper. Was this a test to see if he could keep his head under pressure? But if this idiot asked him how he would deal with a case of alleged persecution based on sexual preferences one more time...  
  
"Mister Dobbins, that is quite enough." The voice was cool, with a faint trace of some unnamable accent, possibly related to Greek?  
  
The speaker was a small man, probably no higher than Lindsey's chin, although it was harder to guess as Lindsey was sitting and the new arrival was standing. There was something about the shape of his head that seemed... slightly off, and his eyes seemed a bit too large, a bit too green. Remembering his manners, Lindsey stood up, looking at the new arrival with respect and hopefully concealing his frustration with Mr. Dobbins. He offered a polite greeting. "Sir."   
  
"Come this way, Lindsey McDonald." There was a slight tilting of thin lips that could have been a smile.  
  
Gathering up his documentation that proved he was indeed qualified, Lindsey followed the unnamed man out of the room. He wasn't quite certain who the short man was, but from the way that Dobbins and his partner had twitched, he was someone important. Lindsey wanted to ask how he could be useful to the important man, what had caught his interest, but he couldn't think of a way that wouldn't sound inept, clumsy, or sycophantic. Considering that, he held his silence. After all, best not say something foolish if he could prevent it.  
  
"Now, Lindsey McDonald, we shall have you speak with someone serious, who will truly be seeking to learn how capable you would be at the profession of law." Again, there was that strange accent, and the phrasing almost screamed that English wasn't the native language of the small figure. With a small motion that seemed almost like a half bow and a stage magician's flourish, he gestured at a woman sitting at a moderate sized dark wooden table. "I present you now to Irene Constantine."  
  
Lindsey looked at Irene Constantine, trying to read her as the small man slipped out of the room. She had red hair touched with gray at the temples, a firm mouth that looked used to frowning, and pale almost watery colored eyes. She was in a severe suit of an ashen gray that probably cost more than Lindsey's entire wardrobe put together. His knuckles clutched a bit tighter around the handle of his briefcase, and Lindsey tried to offer her the charming smile. "Ma'am."  
  
Irene offered him a slight smile, but it almost looked as if the certainly unfamiliar expression pained her. "Please, sit down, Mister McDonald. If I might see a copy of your resume?"  
  
For a few moments, there was near silence, only the loud seeming fwiip noise of crisp pages turning, and the occasional 'hmmm' or 'ahh' as Ms. Constantine surveyed his resume, application, and transcripts. "You do seem to have all your papers in order."  
  
Somehow, that felt like a compliment from this woman. He wondered for a moment what she did, but refused to ask, contenting himself with a mere murmured "Thank you, Ms. Constantine."  
  
"Tell me, why do you wish to apply to become a very minor footnote to this legal giant?" There was something glinting in her eye, and he knew that this was a test.  
  
Taking a deep breath, Lindsey decided to take a risk. He decided to try the simple truth. "Honestly? I don't want to be a minor footnote. But if I am to gain advancement in my chosen career, I need to get a start somewhere. Once I'm started, then I can advance. But I have to get a toehold."  
  
There was a slight change in her glacial eyes, although he couldn't interpret it. "I see. And how well do you work with others?"  
  
"I try very hard to ensure that the end goal will be met, and to encourage everyone to make contributions." He let the effort at the charming smile fall, fairly certain that a pair of pretty eyes and a carefully friendly smile would get nowhere with this woman.  
  
"mmm. Very good ideas, both of them." For a few moments, she appeared to be shuffling through some papers. Then, she removed a pair of stapled packets, sliding the thicker one towards him. "Look over that and see if you could work within those legal restrictions and frameworks."  
  
"Yes ma'am." Lindsey started skimming over the packet, trying to get an idea of just what this was. Health benefits and insurance program, dress code, procedure for sick leave, vacation days, requested transfers, retirement funds... There was more, an astonishingly thick section labeled 'Conduct Expected of Employees'. Glancing through, he noted things about punctuality, continued education, quarterly reviews, and personal shrines... wait a minute, personal shrines? There was actually a section about establishing a personal shrine for the religious figure of the employee's preference, with sections about the size permitted, types and quantities of incense and sacrifices...  
  
Looking up at Ms. Constantine, he offered a thoughtful smile. "Ma'am, I must admit there appear to be a few items in this Code of Conduct that I am not accustomed to looking for. May I take it home with me for a more detailed examination?"  
  
Her smile this time looked far less pained and far less like a friendly expression and more like something that might be seen from a barracuda, all sharp looking teeth and pale eyes. "Oh, by all means take the code home to peruse. And if you find it acceptable, then come back in, and drop this off, signed with the front desk, and they can tell you when and where to start."  
  
All those teeth caused a bit of a shiver to go over his spine. Was it normal for a person to look quite that pale? "Thank you for your confidence in me, Ms. Constantine."  
  
"Oh, the pleasure is mine, Mr. McDonald. I think that you could do big things here at Wolfram and Hart, and I'm looking forward to watching your career." She stood up, holding out a cool hand with long fingernails painted a pale silvery hue.  
  
Shaking her cold hand, Lindsey felt those nails scrape over his palm. He resisted the urge to check for bleeding. "It's been a pleasure meeting you, Ms. Constantine."  
  
As he walked out of the building, Lindsey smiled. Things were coming together now. Soon, if he played things right, he'd be swimming with the big fish, instead of being one of the little unnoticed and expendable bottom feeders. Things were looking up. Not that he had any idea why a law firm would need a clause stating that no more than one chicken could be sacrificed per ten hours worked each week... But there had been a lot of lawsuits lately about anti-discrimination and equal opportunity. Surely that was all there was to it...  
  
End Swimming with the Big Fish 


	18. Silver Serpent

author: Lucinda  
  
rating: pg13/pg16  
  
main character(s): Dru, Lucius Malfoy  
  
disclaimer: If you recognize them, they are not mine. Anyone from BtVS or A:tS is the creation of Joss Whedon. Lucius Malfoy is the creation of JK Rowling  
  
distribution: CauldronChronicles, OADNT, Twisting, Paula, Cat - anyone else ask  
  
notes: response to Jinni's Poetry Quote challenge, week #11. Also the tale of how Dru and Lucius ended up together in 'Dark Fall'.  
  
  
  
Twas brillig, and the slithy toves  
  
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe  
  
All mimsy were the borogoves,  
  
And the mome raths outgrabe  
  
"Beware the Jaberwock, my son!  
  
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!  
  
Beware the jubjub bird, and shun  
  
The frumious Bandersnatch!"  
  
-- Lewis Caroll, Jabberwocky  
  
* * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Dru couldn't quite say when she first heard the little song in the stars. Only a few of them were singing it at first, one here, one there in the west, and one behind the moon... A soft song, nearly drowned out by the other stars and their silver crystal voices. But this was a different song, green and angry, full of snakes and death and magic.  
  
Of course, she loved it. She would sway to it's music, dancing beneath the stars as she tried to divine the names of the stars singing the sweet song of death. Over the years, the song spread, and more stars sang of green death and serpents. It made her smile and clap her hands in glee, and then she would insist that her tarnished knight take her out to kill someone slow and unsuspecting, someone who didn't hear the song of the stars.  
  
She was weak when the song faltered, and could do little more than whimper in pain as the harmonies shattered, the stars falling away as the sky wept. The lovely, green song was being silenced.  
  
And then they went to Sunnydale, and her daddy came back to them. She was made strong again, and her Spike was made weak. For a while, she was with her Daddy again, and she didn't care about the green song.  
  
But then, her dark knight took her away as the nasty taffy girl fought her Daddy. When next she woke up, she was in a green place, full of growing things and little dancing blood fairies. It was a place where water spun in the air and the people danced and sang for everything.  
  
The green song came back, louder than ever. So many different stars singing the same song, about snakes and fear and green death. And then she knew the truth - the One whom the stars sang about had been hurt, much like she had been in Prague. If the One could regain his strength, then his wonderful song would spread, and he would enforce his lovely vision over the whole world.  
  
And so she used Charlie the Chaos demon to make her dark knight jealous. She used Charlie to make Spike mad enough to storm away in a fit of rage, and then slipped aboard a plane. She didn't know what country it would take her to, only that it would be closer to the One of the Green Song.  
  
It was such a delightful surprise to find herself back in England again. She'd missed it so much... But it was different now. It had changed over the past century, and she no longer knew where to find everything that she needed.  
  
And so she meandered around, nibbling on the tourists and exploring the new streets. So many new shops, so many different people... It was breathtaking, and the city danced and laughed around her.  
  
She was in the park, enjoying the night air. There were still the fading songs and images of the day, with people whirling and gimbaling about, with dogs and children and darting around on tiny wheels. She could hear the stars clearly now, laughing and whispering their secrets to each other. But they were feeling sly, and their whispers were in Turkish, the tongue of secrets, and unfortunately a language that she had never learned.  
  
He was there, walking in the moonlight, a black cloak fluttering behind him like the wings of a bird, and his pale hair like cobwebs. His eyes were cold and empty, like winter frost. He was perfect. And she could hear the song of his star, all high and silver white, like frost and bones. He knew the One, the serpent mage that would leave the whole world in fear, singing his green song.  
  
"Do you hear the slithy toves as they gyre and gimbal on the wabe?" She spoke softly, pitching her words to carry to him. He knew the One of the Green Song, and he could be useful in binging him back, but she didn't know how yet. She wouldn't know how until she looked into his eyes, stared at his soul.  
  
"What did you say?" His voice held confusion, and he stopped, staring at her as if she'd just uttered nonsense, and his silver snake cane hissed at her, gleaming in the moonlight.  
  
"Do you hear the slithy toves? Can you follow the flight of the Jubjub bird as it flutters over the red flowers?" She smiled as she moved closer, putting a bit of sway to her hips, knowing that men of all sorts found that fascinating.  
  
"What sort of flowers does the bird fly over?" There was a sort of arrogance there, and the feeling that he was only humoring her.  
  
"Silly man… the Jubjub is the bird of destiny, and it's cry can change the course of history. There is a song, a sweet song of fear and death and serpents… Will you dance to it with me? Dance to the green song in the moonlight?" She smiled, holding out one hand to him.  
  
He placed one hand on hers, and it was warm and almost soft, the hand of someone who didn't need to chop his enemies to pieces himself. His eyes were the color of frost and cold, and she gazed into them, measuring his shriveled soul. This man was a wizard, a follower of the One of the Green Song, loyal to him. He was delightfully ruthless and evil, considering most people to be expendable pawns.  
  
"I can help you bring him back. The lovely one who brings fear and death and green serpents in the air…" She whispered her offer, curving her lips just a little, into the fetching half smile that had always reduced her Spike to putty in her hands. It showed hints of her white teeth, and made her cheeks look soft and gently rounded. "You and I can do wonderful and terrible things together…"  
  
"Will we be able to bring him back? To make him strong and powerful?" His words were barely whispered, as if he might not even be certain that he'd spoken at all.  
  
"My darling silver snake, we shall be brillig together. And I can make him immortal… I can make you both immortal, and you shall look splendid and sinister and perfect forever." She smiled at him, pulling him into a loose waltz under the stars.  
  
"Immortal?" He sounded intrigued and amused. "You offer tempting things, dark lady. Who are you?"  
  
She smiled, pulling him close enough to lay a light kiss over his lips, as gentle as the touch of a spider as it prepared to spin it's web, or to sting it's prey. She was luring him in, enthralling him with her eyes and her voice and the supple flow of fabric over her hips and bosom. She barely breathed the words out, forcing him to pay close attention to her, to fall that much deeper into her clutches. "I am Drusilla."  
  
"I am Lucius Malfoy." He leaned down, kissing her, a more demanding and forceful kiss than the one that she'd used. He wanted to impress and intimidate her, to believe that he was the most powerful, most aggressive one in the budding relationship.  
  
Drusilla smiled, allowing his arms to surround her, to support her as the dance of seduction continued. Let him think he was calling the tune… She had wrote the song, had sang along with it for years now. The more he thought he was in charge, the more she could make him do as she wished. Her Daddy had taught her well, and her Spike had only added polish to that particular lesson.   
  
Let the stars sing a new song. A song of silver shadows, the song of Lucius and Drusilla, and their rise to power and glory. She would make the One strong again, and then she and Lucius would direct him in his rule of the world. And she would have eternity with her dazzling silver serpent. Simply brillig…  
  
End Silver Serpent. 


	19. No Fun Anymore

author: Lucinda  
  
rating: pg13  
  
main character: 'Chantarelle'  
  
disclaimer: If you recognize the, they are not mine. Anyone from BtVS or A:tS is the creation of Joss Whedon.  
  
distribution: Quickfics, Paula, Cat - anyone else ask  
  
notes response to Jinni's Poetry Quote challenge, week #11. This is the blond girl that was helping organize that vampire club in the season 2 episode 'Lie to Me'.  
  
  
  
Jumping off the highboard-  
  
Into the marshmallow pool.  
  
Swimming through the greenbeans,  
  
I'm NOBODY'S fool.  
  
Bouncing on a rubber stamp  
  
Trying to print your name.  
  
Hoping hard to make the score-  
  
Who says life's a game???  
  
--Jen LeMaire, "Fish" (c) 1990  
  
* * * *  
  
Chantarelle walked among the crowd of visitors, trying to figure out what was happening. As expected, the club was full, with a movie playing on the large television, and people gathered to ponder the Lonely Ones, or to talk with other kindred misfits. Everything should have seemed normal.  
  
But something felt off tonight. She didn't know what it was, but something felt off balance and wrong. As if something dreadful was about to happen.  
  
Diego didn't feel it. He was being annoyed at Ford and trying to flirt with one of the guests, some smoky eyed young woman in a dress that could have come right from the closet of Morticia Addams. Diego was intent on her, but the Morticia look alike just looked amused, which didn't really speak well for Diego's chances. Nobody else seemed to feel it, which forced her to wonder if it was just her imagination.  
  
She was just starting to wonder if it was all her own paranoia when the door above was opened forcefully. The blond man that entered - and she really couldn't describe the way he moved any other way than a predatory stalk - he scared her. He was intense, and had this sort of charismatic aura about him that almost seemed to make everything around him seem less real. And he terrified her down to the tips of her blond hair and to her silver painted toenails. That man was powerful, and dangerous, and...  
  
Why was she walking towards him? She didn't want to be near him, and yet her feet were carrying her closer. This was bad, this could only get worse...  
  
He had a girlfriend, all pale skin and dark hair, wreathed in a flowing gown that brushed the tops of her feet. With that pale skin, the dark eyes and the slightly lost look, his girlfriend should have fit perfectly with this place. But not if you really looked at her eyes. Her eyes may have been lost, but there was no warmth there, no connection to anything. And they were filled with hunger and sparkled as if something had amused her. And her lips were very, very red.  
  
They were the something bad that was going to happen.  
  
Smiling, the woman in the gown clapped her hands at the assembled people, in what should have looked like childish glee but somehow seemed filled with danger. "Look at all the pretty people..."  
  
The feeling of cold dread was stronger now, filling not just her body, but all of what made her Chantarelle, and sliding deeper, into the part of her that had just been plain, ignored Clara Sutton. These people were dangerous, they were wrong, they were... well, the word that she wanted to say was evil. Except that she couldn't speak, couldn't say anything, couldn't look away from the pale man and his crazy girlfriend. They were evil, and powerful, and they were death.  
  
Sauntering down the stairs, the pale man paused in front of her, and one cool hand brushed her cheek. Chantarelle felt her heart jump, and shivered. His smile was cruel, and she had the feeling that he knew just how frightened she was. He was walking towards Ford, who looked unsurprised, as if... As if he'd expected him.  
  
Ford HAD expected them. He'd somehow planned their arrival, arranged for them to come here. Without telling her or Diego. This was a very bad thing... And she had the most horrible, sinking feeling that it would get worse before it got better.  
  
Slowly, a few more people made their way into the club. These people didn't even appear to fit, they didn't look like they belonged at all. They were scruffy looking, and carried a sense of petty malice that made her wonder if they'd spent their childhood tormenting small animals. And then one of them had smiled at one of the girls, and his face had changed... Sharp crooked teeth and yellow eyes and heavy brows.  
  
These were vampires. Not the gently tragic 'Lonely Ones' that she'd watched on the screen, or a darkly romantic figure to inspire tempting and forbidden dreams. They were danger, as unpredictable as cats and as lethal as a snake. And the way that they were looking around the club made it clear that they saw the assembled crowd as little more than food.  
  
But then someone else arrived, a blond girl with a suntan and a big smile. With a small start, she realized that this girl had been here just the other night, was the one who'd known Ford. And she was looking at the scary pale man in a way that spoke of bitter and old rivalries. But what could the girl do?  
  
Her answer came quickly, when the blond - what had her name been? Fluffy... Muffy... no, Buffy! Buffy grabbed the scary woman with the demented eyes, holding a sharpened stake to her chest. With enough force, that stake would slide under the ribcage and puncture the woman's heart, sending a horrible crimson stain over the gown... unless she fell to ashes as some films showed vampires doing.  
  
Chantarelle barely heard what was said, only dimly aware that the blonde girl was threatening the madwoman, bargaining for the lives of the people here. She felt like her body was moving in slow motion as she gestured for everyone to get out, to leave the building. And then, it was as if something had broken, and she could move again.  
  
She made her way for the door, wanting the open sky above her, and the fresh air, wanting sunshine and flowers and safety. Wanting to regain the sense of utter confidence that monsters weren't real, that there was only the darkness of the human soul to fear. But that certainty was gone, shattered and broken and never to be made whole again.  
  
Everything had changed in that club tonight. And she knew that things wouldn't go back to the way they'd been before. Not for her. And she couldn't be Chantarelle any longer, couldn't be the smiling floating figure enraptured by 'the Lonely Ones' and dreaming of drifting through forever. Chantarelle had died down there tonight, and it was up to what was left for her to build a new identity, to become someone else, someone who would be able to survive.  
  
But no more vampire games. No more romantic idealization of the walking dead.  
  
Not for her.  
  
end No Fun Anymore. 


	20. Beware the Jaberwock!

author: Lucinda  
  
rating: pg13/16 for violence  
  
main character(s): Drusilla  
  
disclaimer: If you recognize them, they are not mine. Anyone from BtVS or A:tS is the creation of Joss Whedon. The hunter is based on the movie Predator, which I hold no legal rights to either.  
  
distribution: Twisting, Quickfics, Paula - anyone else just ask.  
  
notes response to Jinni's Poetry Quote challenge, week #11. Additional thanks to both Imzadi for mentioning the Jaberwocky's defeat, and to someone - I can't remember the author or the title, but someone wrote a BtVS/Predator crossover with Kendra. I confess to a measure of inspiration.  
  
  
  
Twas brillig, and the slithy toves  
  
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe  
  
All mimsy were the borogoves,  
  
And the mome raths outgrabe  
  
"Beware the Jaberwock, my son!  
  
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!  
  
Beware the jubjub bird, and shun  
  
The frumious Bandersnatch!"  
  
-- Lewis Caroll, Jabberwocky  
  
* * * * *  
  
Miss Edith was cross when Drusilla awoke from her day's slumber. She wasn't quite certain what was bothering the dainty lady, but she was most clearly unhappy, her voice petulant as she spoke of the Hunter's Moon, and the dangers of the night. Puzzled, Drusilla tried to reason with her porcelain advisor. "But surely a Hunter's Moon is a splendid thing, an occasion for teas and cakes?"  
  
"Hunter's Moon?" The question came from Hor'A'io, her current lover. He was such a handsome figure, her sweet fungus demon, all covered with lumps and smelling of secrets... mmmm. Such a wonderful smell, she could hardly get enough of him.  
  
Smiling, Drusilla cupped his cheek, breathing in the scent that rose from him. She could almost see it sometimes, all fine and gray... "Miss Edith is not happy, but she won't tell me why."  
  
Chuckling, he kissed her. "A Hunter's Moon can only mean good fortune for the hunt. I'll bring you back something pretty - a cat skin with spots, or maybe some pretty jewelry."  
  
She sighed as she watched him vanish into the thick leaves of the jungle. He could be so hard to track, matching the colors of the jungle mushrooms as he did. And he could move quietly, which was good. Fungus demons were strong, but not swift.  
  
Humming to herself, she put on water for tea, knowing that if she didn't boil it, it would keep the thick green taste that clashed so badly with the tea leaves and sugar. Setting the places around her little table, Drusilla glanced at Miss Edith, hoping that by serving her favorite - blackberry currant - that Miss Edith might be cheered up, or at least persuaded to explain why she was so very cross.  
  
"Brillig and slithy toves, grye and gimbal, twist and shout... and if you are late, than no tea for you, only nasty oysters in their cold wet bed. ick." She crushed the napkins into the ornamental fan shapes, letting them form graceful arches on the table.  
  
:This is the Hunter's Moon. But who is the Hunter and who is the Prey?: It was Miss Edith's voice, almost the same as her own voice had once been. Before Daddy had come, before he left her so many red presents.  
  
Drusilla froze at the words. Who was the hunter? They were, of course. Who else could possibly... But there were demons that would attack vampires. Could one of them be out there tonight?  
  
:Beware the Jaberwock, my pretty! The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!: Miss Edith sounded worried.  
  
Drusilla gasped, the teacup falling from her hand, splashing hot tea onto the floor and her foot, which made her snarl and hop on her other foot, one hand cradling the scorched foot. "Not the Jaberwocky! He bites, and he is rude and cross and an ill-mannered guest!"  
  
Everybody knew that a Jaberwocky fed on mushrooms and dead flowers. And with their burning eyes, they would fiercely chase away anything that dared to interrupt them. Her sweet A'io was a giant mushroom. The Jaberwocky might try to eat him! That would not be at all acceptable.  
  
"Now, what to do about a Jaberwocky..." She searched through the house, only half certain of the object of her frantic hands. Finally, she found it. A gently curving slender blade of fine steel, folded over and over again by the patient man who'd spent almost a year crafting it. This was a blade that could sever flesh and bone as easily as paper, a Vorpal Blade set with dragons dancing around the hilt and a crimson tassel. Time to go hunting. Let the Hunter's Moon bless her and not the Jaberwocky.  
  
She left Miss Edith inside, hoping that if her dainty advisor drank her tea, she would be happier and more sociable when she returned. Something was out there tonight, out hunting among the trees. She could hear it in the silence, the absence of the monkey howls, the absence of the soft not-sounds of the owl. The Jaberwocky was hunting, and she would hunt it in turn.  
  
There was the remains of a Txu'Patelli demon on one of the forest paths. Something had caused it's ribcage to open outwards, as if something had burst free, and his head was gone. Perhaps his kinfolk could identify him from the patterns painted over his legs and the scars on his arms. Beside him, there was a depression, a footprint. It had been made by something in a solid boot with a thick tread. But the shape wasn't quite right for a human... It could only be the Jaberwocky. She felt herself shift, her delight in a good hunt calling forth her wicked teeth and gleaming eyes.  
  
Part of her wanted to run ahead, to follow the path and shriek her challenge tot he moon. But she didn't listen to that part, didn't listen to the angry and broken girl that she'd once been. Instead, she listened to the soft footed hunter that so few people realized she'd become. Daddy had taught her how to hunt, after all, and there was more than red presents and broken minds, little games to raise fear. She moved quietly, half crouched as she followed the footprints, her eyes and ears alert of the faintest of noises or clues.  
  
Her lover's body was along the path in the next clearing, his head removed and rolled several feet away. She lifted it up, hands caressing the cheek that had been so warm just hours ago. "Alas... I knew him so well. My Horatio..."  
  
She gently placed his head next to his body, and then stopped, noticing a funny scent in the air. There was something on his fingers, caught under the sharp nails, something bright green and almost glowing in the moonlight. Little droplets of it went away from him, vanishing into the undergrowth. The Jaberwocky was bleeding.  
  
"Jaberwocky... I know how to deal with you. Snick snack... off with his head. Then take it home to Daddy... yes, to Daddy." The words were the softest and most venomous of hisses.  
  
Following the little green droplets, she realized there were starting to be more of them. She began moving slower, careful not to make any noise. There was a faint noise, a high pitched whine that set her teeth on edge and made her want to growl. It hurt. And it was coming from just ahead.  
  
Peering between a couple of fronds, she looked into the small clearing. It seemed empty, but there were a few droplets leading towards a faint depression in the grass. The whining sound came from there, and the droplets had almost formed a tiny pool, almost enough to form a splatter. The Jaberwocky... but she couldn't see it, only hear it. Hear the faint whine and a sort of raspy sound as he drew slow breaths, and hear the strong thump-thump-thump of his heart. Her teeth were bared in a smile, and she began calculating exactly how to strike at something that she couldn't see.  
  
If she aimed for a bit higher than the heart that she could hear so easily, the heart that sent forth the green ichor that surged in it's veins… Oh yes, then she could strike. Her muscles sent her forth, swifter and more terrible than a jaguar, and she slashed down with her sword, aiming to hit the heart that she could hear. Bright golden and green sparks flew, as did a hot spray of that nasty smelling green, and then there was a shimmering in the air, like what had hovered over the road in Nevada.  
  
The Jaberwock was revealed, with a metal mask over his face, and long tendrils beaded and hanging around it's skull like a nest of sleeping snakes. Bits of metal and almost leather clung to parts of it in a form of armor, filled with secrets to hide itself and to find prey more easily. Nasty beast, not even willing to depend on the luck of the Hunter's Moon and it's own skill… needing to use the captured sparks to steal another advantage. But at least that high and painful whine was gone.  
  
It roared at her, and there was a sharp clacking noise from under it's mask, and large silver eyes glared at her. It also raised a wicked looking gun at her, trying to find a way to blast her.  
  
"Cheaters never prosper." She snarled at it, one hand catching the gun, and the other slashing claw-like at the face, trying to remove the mask, to see what else it tried to lock away.  
  
At first, she thought that the whole of it's face had come away, but there were only a few splatters of the green stuff that wasn't blood. But no, it had been a mask over it's face, large silver panels over dark eyes that gleamed almost orange in the moonlight. Little tentacles tipped with a pale sharpness surrounded a mouth, and his breath smelled like rotting mushrooms.  
  
"You killed my Horatio!" Dru's own eyes might have been fiery bright in their own right, burning with her anger and outrage. "I wasn't done with him!"  
  
The tentacle things waggled at her, and it made some sort of noise at her, nothing at all like any language that she recognized. But it was being brave and defiant.  
  
One hand brought up the sword, and then snick-Snack! It's head fell to the ground, green fluid gushing out. Angrily, she pushed the body away, not wanting to en up covered in that's horrible life-fluid. It would have been different if it had been filled with rich red yummy blood, but instead there was the sharp and sour green.  
  
When it looked as if the bleeding had stopped, she seized hold of the mass of tendrils and lifted the severed head into the air. She felt almost like that Greek hero, what had his name been? The one who killed the Medusa? She had triumphed under the Hunter's Moon. Now, to gather her things and go show Daddy her trophy.  
  
She giggled and skipped the whole way back to the little house that she'd shared with Hor'A'io. Nothing bothered her on her journey. Perhaps that was because one hand held the severed head, leaving a faint trail of green glowing droplets, and the other held the still green coated blade?  
  
end Beware the Jaberwock! 


	21. Kill the Jaberwock

author: Lucinda  
  
rating: pg/pg13  
  
main character: Buffy, with appearances by all Scoobies.  
  
there are no pairings central to this fic, although there may be slight glimpses of Xander/Anya and Willow/Oz.  
  
disclaimer: If you recognize them, they are not mine. Anyone from BtVS or A:tS is the creation of Joss Whedon.  
  
distribution: notes response to Jinni's Poetry Quote challenge, week #11. Set in season 4, after Halloween, before Wild at heart.  
  
  
  
Twas brillig, and the slithy toves  
  
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe  
  
All mimsy were the borogoves,  
  
And the mome raths outgrabe  
  
"Beware the Jaberwock, my son!  
  
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!  
  
Beware the jubjub bird, and shun  
  
The frumious Bandersnatch!"  
  
-- Lewis Caroll, Jabberwocky  
  
* * * *  
  
Leaning against the bar at Willie's Alibi, Buffy looked at the nervous little man, wondering how on earth he managed to run a bar for demons when he was this easy to intimidate. "So, what's got all the vamps in hiding instead of out where I can find them?"  
  
"I... you got to understand, that while I've... maybe heard a few things, sometimes people just do their own thing, you know?" Willie's hand was almost spastically polishing the dull wood.  
  
Smiling just a little, she pulled herself onto one of the barstools, subtly glancing around the club as she did. Many of the patrons could have been human, but she didn't quite think so. The ones that were clearly not human weren't anything that she recognized. "So, share the rumors. I just... I hate being out of the loop. And I'm going to stay here and make everybody nervous until you do."  
  
For a moment, his eyes looked panicky, but then he seemed to calm himself, shuffling just a bit farther away. "Apparently, there's something coming. Some sort of demon. All I've heard is a name, and a lot of the demons and vamps who learn about the bigger picture have been acting... funny about this thing. No idea what it looks like, what it does, or why so many people are getting weird."   
  
Buffy reached out, catching his wrist. "I want a name."  
  
"Jaberwock." Willie tugged at his wrist, trying to pull away from her, with no effect. "I don't know what it is, but that's the name I've heard. Supposedly, it's coming here, maybe here already. That's all."  
  
He really didn't seem like he was hiding more information about this... Jabber-walk thingie, so Buffy let go. If there was something else that he might know, she could always come back later. "Thanks. I'll see you later."  
  
Walking back to Giles's new store the Magic Box, Buffy sighed. So, a lot of demons were laying low because of this new arrival. Was this the next thing wanting to try to take over? Some even bigger bad? Giles should be able to figure something out. With a tiny delay to stake a minion trying to bite a girl outside the Bronze, Buffy kept turning the possibilities over in her mind.  
  
"Hey Giles. Willie said there was something on it's way or maybe here... Lots of the underground types are sort of acting wiggy." Buffy smiled, looking at the way he had everything arranged. The front had candles and stones and books as well as the weird bits and pieces and thingies that people used for magic. Giles seemed so happy with this store... Of course, she did think that she recalled him saying something about wanting to be a grocer when he was a kid?  
  
"Something on it's way..." He sighed, sipping at his tea. "By some chance did you get a name for this something?"  
  
Buffy shrugged, leaning against a wall. "He called it a jabby... no, that's not it. umm... a Jaberwock. Whatever that is."  
  
"Sounds almost familiar." Oz made a little shrug, glancing up from his guitar.  
  
Willow nodded, smiling at her boyfriend. "Yeah, it does, doesn't it? But I can't quite place it either."   
  
Giles made this sort of funny noise that sounded like 'hhhrrrmmmm', almost like a little engine trying to turn over. "Why don't you check on the computer while I look in some of the Watcher's Chronicles. I think I know where I've seen the name before..."  
  
"What name? What are you looking for?" Anya's voice preceded her into the room. Giles had decided to let her help him with the store, although Buffy couldn't quite figure out why. Maybe just because she wouldn't freak about the weapons or the occasional attacking monster?  
  
"Jaberwock." The word came from Oz, who didn't even look up from his guitar strings.  
  
Anya took a deep breath and sort of stepped backwards into the wall, all the while turning paler as her eyes grew wide and wild. Whispered words emerged from her lips. "A Jaberwock? Here? Oh no…"  
  
She spun around, looking at Buffy, her expression unexpectedly pleading. "You have to kill it. It's…. huge, and hideous. All…. Giant ears and big yellow teeth… revolting. And it's got quite the nasty temper."   
  
"All I'm getting online is references to works by Lewis Caroll." Willow's apologetic words leeched some of the tension from the room.  
  
Buffy blinked, thinking that she recognized the name. "Lewis Caroll? Isn't that the guy who wrote Alice in Wonderland?"  
  
"Indeed. He was also a Watcher." Giles had this faintly satisfied look, and a thick book held in his hand. "The Council thought that he was… rather eccentric, and instead of some sort of low profile occupation, such as a teacher or a librarian, he became a rather flamboyant writer. There was also… well, I suppose that doesn't matter now. He's one of the few sources of information on the… or perhaps a Jaberwock, I'm a bit unclear about that."  
  
"It's big, it's evil, and we need to have Buffy cut off it's head." Anya shuddered, half glaring at Giles. "What more do you need to know?"  
  
"How about where to find it?" Buffy looked at Anya. "How am I supposed to go kill something if I don't know where it is?"  
  
"They like forests, and trees. Take a sharp sword, go to the woods, and when a big, hideous beast comes up to you, KILL IT!!" Anya's voice sounded almost reasonable, until the final, screamed words.  
  
That level of fear and insistence was entirely unlike Anya. Buffy felt a bit uneasy, wondering what sort of horrible monstrosity could get her that worked up. "Okayyyy… Let me get a sword then."  
  
A short time later, Buffy found herself walking in the woods, armed with this nifty looking sword and a stake. Why was she looking for some huge, scary monster again? Oh, right, sacred calling, grand destiny, the whole Slayer thing. It just would have been nice to have more of a description to go by than 'huge, hideous, big ears and yellow teeth. With a nasty temper' to go by. After all, that could describe those red-necked vampires that had shown up for Trick's SlayerFest.  
  
She heard a strange, crunching noise. Slowly, Buffy moved towards the noise, wondering if this was the mysterious Jaberwock. Her hand clenched the sword, the wire wrapped around the hilt leaving an impression in her palm. She peeked around a tree, and froze, astonished at the sight.  
  
It was huge, almost as tall as her shoulder and as long as her mom's car. Dirty claws emerged from all four feet, and there were huge yellow teeth. The ears added almost three more feet to the things height. Red eyes as large as her fist gleamed in it's narrow head. As Buffy watched, the thing bit off another chunk of the sapling tree, and began to chew.  
  
It was a giant white rabbit.  
  
Buffy tried to hold in her giggles, her mind echoing with the Elmer Fudd singing 'Kill the wabbit, kill the wabbit…' to that opera song. All she needed was a spear and magic helmet. Anya had been freaked out over a giant bunny?  
  
It was actually one of the easiest kills of her entire history of slaying. Just walk up behind it, and chop! Off with it's head. Buffy laughed the whole way back to the Magic Box.  
  
End Kill the Jaberwock. 


	22. Small Mercies R for character death

Author: Lucinda  
  
rating: R for angst and character deaths  
  
main characters: Willow, Edward  
  
contains mention of Willow/Tara and Buffy/Angel  
  
disclaimer: I hold no legal rights to any characters that you recognize.  
  
distribution: TNL, Paula, anyone else ask.  
  
note: for Jinni's Poetry Quote Challenge #1. AU, loosely based on later half of season 6.  
  
"Because I could not stop for Death,  
  
He kindly stopped for me;  
  
The carriage held but just ourselves  
  
And Immortality. "  
  
-- Emily Dickinson - Because I could not stop for Death  
  
* * * * *  
  
She'd loved Tara, loved her so deeply and so powerfully that Tara had become her balance, her stability. When Tara had broken up with her over the magic problem, it had felt like a knife had been shoved into her and twisted. It had hurt.  
  
Being without Tara had been far worse than not using magic, or not feeling useful. So, she'd managed to stop, to stop seeing Rack, to stop casting wild magics with Amy. To just... stop. all to put herself back together, to win Tara back. To be worthy again.  
  
Then, Tara had been taken from her. Ripped away by a bullet, a bullet that hadn't even been meant for her, but for Buffy. Her world had shattered, her balance and heart gone, every bit of joy and happiness and hope ripped open and drowned in blood. Her sanity must have gone with it, or maybe it was her compassion, her ethics?  
  
She'd hunted down Warren, who had shot the bullet. His death had been slow and agonizing. Then had been Rack, and she'd ripped all the magic from him. He'd died from the shock of it. Then, Giles and Buffy had tried to stop her, to kill her. And all because she'd slain a couple villains, people that had done things as bad as the demons that Buffy had been slaying.   
  
Willow really hadn't been trying to kill Giles. He'd tried to immobilize her with a spell, and she'd just... flung him back into the shelves, which had broken at the impact. She'd felt his aura flare, and then fade away. Buffy had attacked her, saying that she'd done unforgivable things, crossed impossible lines. But it had been the same line Buffy had crossed. Killing Warren because he'd killed Tara wasn't that different from trying to feed Faith to Angel for poisoning the vampire, the only difference being that instead of leaving Warren in a coma, she'd killed him. And Angel had survived. Buffy had to die for that double standard.  
  
She didn't really know what had happened to Xander. Had he ran away from Sunnydale? Had he gone off with Anya to try to forget? She wanted to know that he was safe, that he'd never feel the pain of having his lover die in his arms. But the Hellmouth was never safe.  
  
Willow sat on the bluffs, watching the ocean. She'd killed Giles. She'd killed Buffy, and didn't quite feel a bad as she thought that she should. After all, hadn't Buffy wanted to go back to where-ever she'd been when she was dead before? None of it felt quite as real as Tara being gone.  
  
She knew the moment that he stepped onto the bluffs. Nothing as obvious as a footstep, or the sound of one of his many guns cocking. NO, she could feel him, a cold presence, one of the most damaged auras that she'd ever encountered in a living creature. It was as if parts of him had been cut away inside, until there was very little left inside of him.  
  
She waited until he would be close enough to hear her before speaking. "Who are you, and why are you here?"  
  
"I am Death." His voice was cold, entirely without emotion or judgment.  
  
Willow paused, suddenly curious. She turned around, wanting to look at him, this man who called himself death. He seemed so... normal. Not quite Xander's height, with pale empty blue eyes and white blond hair. He had a small arsenal of weapons on him, and carried himself like a hunter.  
  
With the faintest ghost of a smile, she replied. "I always thought Death wore this big black robe with a hood."   
  
"That look would be very Medieval. Not terribly practical either." His smile was a bit wider than hers, but it didn't reach his eyes.  
  
Willow considered that, a small part of her wondering why she was so calm. But none of this felt real. "You're supposed to kill me, aren't you?"  
  
"Yes." He was watching her, with a handgun in his left hand, the right one empty.  
  
Willow looked at him, wondering if anything ever reached his eyes, or if he'd lost so much of himself that he just didn't feel anymore. "Who asked you to come here?"  
  
"Why do you ask? Are you planning some sort of vengeance on them?" He sounded calm, with only a small hint of curiosity.  
  
Willow shrugged. "I've always been too curious. But hey, what are you going to do, shoot me for asking? It sort of looks like you were already planning that."  
  
"Any last requests?" There was something in his voice, not quite kindness, or sympathy, but... perhaps an acknowledgement of her pain?  
  
She looked at him, and held her hand out at her sides, palms upwards. "Make it quick."  
  
Sometimes, death was a mercy. The same could be said of Death as well.  
  
end Small Mercies. 


	23. Dark Princess

Author: Lucinda  
  
rating: pg13  
  
main characters: Nathaniel, Dru  
  
disclaimer: I hold no legal rights to any characters that you recognize.  
  
distribution: Jinni's Quickfics, Paula, anyone else please ask.  
  
notes: response to Jinni's Weekly Poetry Challenge (week 3, Poetry Quote below). Set after season 5 BtVS, and post-Blue Moon for AB.  
  
"SHE walks in beauty, like the night  
  
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;  
  
And all that's best of dark and bright  
  
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:  
  
Thus mellow'd to that tender light  
  
Which heaven to gaudy day denies."  
  
-- She walks in beauty, Byron  
  
  
  
* * * *  
  
I know that she's probably very bad for me. She's occasionally cruel, and sometimes vicious, but she's got a sweeter side, and there are times that she'll just want to snuggle and cuddle for hours...  
  
Those times are a definite contrast to the times when she screams because Daddy doesn't love her anymore and her tarnished knight has betrayed her and grandma is a stupid, self-sacrificing tramp. Those are the times when she scratches at my face, or throws things, or chains me up and whips me.  
  
And it's all okay with me. The pleasure, the pain... it's all good. That's what Anita never understood, never tried to understand. She always looked at it as something wrong with me, something that needed to be fixed.  
  
  
  
Drusilla just accepts that it is. That sometimes, pain is good. That I need someone else to help me get through things, to give me direction and a purpose and a goal. My goal is keeping her happy.  
  
It's not easy, sometimes. She's not used to places like this, places where people notice and remember. Places that aren't twisted and corrupted by a Hellmouth.  
  
Makes me glad that I've never met her Daddy, it doesn't sound like he took very good care of her. A vampire's Sire is supposed to teach them, teach them how to cope with the politics and the rivalries, and how to be as blatant or discreet as the situation calls for. But he didn't teach her all of that. I'm not sure he taught her any of that.  
  
Sometimes I feel like I'm the one guiding her, making certain that she doesn't break the laws, doesn't do anything that crosses the blurry line of what is acceptable behavior for the vampires now. Sometimes it feels like I'm protecting her.  
  
If she breaks the laws, they'll file with the courts, and then Anita will come and try to shoot Drusilla. It might not be as easy as she expects, my dark Princess isn't dead during the day like Jean Claude. I don't quite know why that is, but she can be as active as I am, and she'll have tea parties with her doll, Miss Edith. With lemon, sugar, cream and those funny little English cookies. That's sort of weird.  
  
But I keep hoping that it won't come to that. That Drusilla will keep inside the laws, that she won't have a Writ of Execution served. Because if that happened... I don't know if she would be able to kill Anita or if Anita would kill her, but I do know that one of them, if not both of them, would be dead. And that would rip me up inside.  
  
Anita saved me - saved all of us, really - from Gabrial. She wanted to help me, even if I wasn't certain that I needed her help. She... she cared. She wanted to protect me from the big, scary world.  
  
Drusilla understands that I need to belong to someone. She understands the need for a little pain with the pleasure. I don't know if she cares about me, not really. She likes having me around, thinks that I taste delightful and makes frequent enjoyment of me in the bed, on the couch, against the wall... But I don't know if she really cares. I'm afraid to ask, really. She needs me, and that's almost enough.  
  
It's all about the compromises, really. Everybody makes them, between what they want, and what they can have. What they want to do, and what's legal to do. Who they want, and who they can have. I have what I need, maybe hoping that she cares, that I matter as Nathaniel is too much to ask for?  
  
Doesn't everyone have to compromise?  
  
end Dark Princess. 


	24. The Wrong Kind of Woman

author: Lucinda  
  
rating: pg13  
  
main characters: Lindsey, Darla  
  
disclaimer: If you recognize them, they are not mine. Anyone from BtVS or A:tS is the creation of Joss Whedon.  
  
distribution: please ask first  
  
note: response to Jinni's Poetry Quote challenge, week #12, set in season 2 Angel.  
  
summary: Sometimes, the best reasons in the whole world can't affect the heart.  
  
I want to go with the one I love.  
  
I do not want to calculate the cost.  
  
I do not want to think about whether it's good.  
  
I do not want to know whether he loves me.  
  
I want to go with whom I love.  
  
- Bertolt Brecht (I Want to Go With Whom I Love)  
  
* * * * *  
  
Darla was brought back for a purpose - to throw off Angel's game, maybe even bring him over to our side. The dark side, if you need to get technical. That was the whole reason why she was brought back to this semblance of life. Angel. Not for me, not even a little bit for me.  
  
So why can't I stop thinking about her?  
  
It's not in the 'how can I help her get to Angel?' way, or even 'God, she's got a great body' - although there's a lot of that one as well. I wonder what she's doing, what she's wearing. I wonder if she'd like Italian food or marzipan, if she'd like a nice white wine. I've memorize that seductive half smile that she gets when she's plotting... the fantasies that smile's appeared in...  
  
She's in and out of my office as if she owns it. As if everything that's mine is hers. From anyone else, it would be exasperating, infuriating. From her, all I want to do is push her up against the wall and kiss her. Or place her on the desk and...  
  
"Hello, Lindsey." Her voice caresses me from behind. She must have been hidden by the drapes.  
  
Spinning the chair around, I smiled at her. "Darla... what brings you to my office this time?"  
  
There's this incredible little sway to her hips as she moves towards me, and her hair shines against this deep red dress that clings to everything. It's sort of knit, and I'm not actually certain if there's anything under it. One hand runs over my head, as if I were a cat that she's petting. "Maybe I just wanted to see you?"  
  
"And maybe there's something that you want." Part of me wants so badly to believe her, to think that she just dropped in to see me, or to slam me against the wall and have her way with me - please? But the odds of that are... absurd, and I'm not a gambling man. And I have to remember, it's all about Angel.  
  
Then she just drops down, so that she's sitting on my lap. Her knee is brushing against a very sensitive part of me, and my arm has gone around her waist, my hand resting on her hip. I'm pretty sure there's no panties under that dress. One of her hands is playing with the hair on the back of my skull, and the other one is unbuttoning my shirt. "There's always something that I want. And just at the moment, what I want is you."  
  
This seems almost too good to be true. Darla, warm and interested, is sitting on my lap removing my shirt. There has to be a catch, or maybe this is all just a dream… If this is a dream, to hell with it, I want her. I want this, and nobody has to know what I dream, what's dancing across the inside of my eyelids… And then I feel her skin against mine, her breasts touching my chest as her hair tickles my shoulder. My eyes snap open, and I can hardly breath at the sight of her. "Darla…"  
  
"Shhh…. I want this. I want to have you, to feel you inside of me." Her voice is a whisper in my ear.  
  
Who could resist that? Certainly not me. Joyfully, I surrender to her attentions and desires. For now, they're so close to my own.  
  
She bites. It probably shouldn't be that much of a surprise, considering that she was a vampire for several centuries, at least, but at the moment that it came to my attention, it was a surprise. Teeth, sinking in over my collarbone. Not that it was such a bad thing, but it was pretty unexpected.  
  
As I'm putting my clothing back on, she looks at me, her fingers reaching out, touching the mark she left. "Before, you would be dead now. I would have drank you up, and you would have died for me, in me."  
  
I can't decipher all the emotions in her voice. Is she angry? Wistful? Does she want that back, all the predatory need and power of a vampire? Is she enjoying the freedoms of mortality? "But if you drained me, there would be no possibility of a second encounter."  
  
"Silly boy…" She chuckled, her crimson nails running down my chest, leaving little lines. "What or who I do is up to me."  
  
That's when the certainty forms. I don't know if this encounter had any meaning to her, if she really wanted me or was just trying to manipulate me. Part of me doesn't care, and part of me knows that the answer is important. But Darla is the sort of woman that mom warned me about. She's pretty, and manipulative, and the sort to use you for all your worth and drop you in the dust at her feet. She's the wrong kind of woman, unhealthy for a man to care about.  
  
But I do.  
  
It's not love, or at least, I'm pretty sure it isn't. There's lust, and curiosity, and fascination. I want to have her again, maybe in a bed this time? I'm pretty sure that I'm obsessed with her. And if the Senior Partners find out about this… well, I don't know. Maybe they'll incinerate me, maybe they'll just chuckle at the idea. But I'd risk it all for Darla, to have her with me, to have her looking at me like that again, full of need and hunger and lust.  
  
And I'm not going to worry about the cost.  
  
End the Wrong Kind of Woman. 


	25. A Better Offer

author: Lucinda  
  
rating: pg13  
  
main characters: Marcy, Vic  
  
disclaimer: If you recognize them, they are not mine. Anyone from BtVS or A:tS is the creation of Joss Whedon.  
  
distribution: notes response to Jinni's Poetry Quote challenge, week #12. Roughly equivalent to season 6 BtVS timeframe, post X-Men 1. Marcy was the invisible girl in season 1 BtVS.  
  
I want to go with the one I love.  
  
I do not want to calculate the cost.  
  
I do not want to think about whether it's good.  
  
I do not want to know whether he loves me.  
  
I want to go with whom I love.  
  
- Bertolt Brecht (I Want to Go With Whom I Love)  
  
* * * *  
  
Working for the government as an untraceable, undetectable spy and assassin had been an absolute blast – for about a month. Just long enough that not only had she gotten too deep to change her mind and walk away, not that they would have let her, but long enough that she'd started to crave the freedom to act without repercussions.  
  
There were always repercussions. And they'd found ways to give them to her. Side effect of being invisible – nobody would ever know if you had bruises. If she did something wrong, or the guy 'teaching' her was having a miserable day, he'd hit her, or where he thought that she was. Call her all sorts of names, going on about how she was so worthless to everyone 'back home' that nobody had ever bothered to look for her, nobody had cared that she'd vanished.  
  
Her elation had gradually changed to a resentful pride in her work, and then that too had changed, becoming a grudging obedience, mainly because the penalty was worse than putting up with their crap. Marcy Clarke had realized just how carefully the trap around her had been woven, how skillfully they'd removed her every chance of escape. She'd had no friends, her family hadn't cared. Once they'd brought her in on those assault charges as a result of Sunnydale… they'd had her.  
  
The fact that her escape from their clutches was the result of her last mission was delightfully ironic. They'd decided that since prison had failed to keep Magneto contained, what was needed was a simple, silent assassination. She'd been summoned, and after a few awkward moments while the director tried to figure out if she was actually in the room or not, she'd been given her orders – go kill Magneto.  
  
She'd said that she could handle it, blustered a bit about an old man being well within her abilities. She could still hear her arrogant words, spoken in an effort to try to hide the fact that he scared the stuffing out of her. "I can handle anything that some dried up old man can dish out. He won't even know I'm there."  
  
Stupid bravado. Stupid nerves demanding that she do something to keep her 'handler' from knowing how nervous Magneto made her. Magneto was just an old man, even if he was an old man that could do just about anything he wanted with anything metal. He probably never would have known that she was there. She may have hated the government, but she was good at her job.  
  
But Magneto wasn't stupid. He knew that he was just an old man, when it came down to it. Not very strong, and he'd get short of breath easily enough. He was old, and his body was getting weak. That was why he had a bodyguard, in case someone tried to kill him. A big, hulking, feral mutant with enhanced senses.  
  
Sabertooth may not have been able to see her, but he could smell her, hear her soft footsteps, maybe even her breathing and heartbeat. He'd known that she was there and caught her before she'd even got into the same room. Opening the door with one hand gripping the back of her neck, Sabertooth had dragged her towards Magneto, and rumbled a simple word. "Intruder."  
  
It was hard not to laugh at the baffled expression on his face, in the first few moments. Before he'd realized that she was invisible. But somehow, with the claw tips of his bodyguard touching her skin, leaving little spots of almost painful pressure on her neck, Marcy didn't think laughing would be a good idea.  
  
"An invisible spy? Did Charles send you?" He'd gone from baffled to amused and curious.  
  
"Who? The director is Russell, Russell Caldwell. Who's this Charles person?" Marcy had been entirely confused by his question. Part of her warned against giving the slightest bit of information away, but… She hated her keepers, and really didn't care if he did something horrible to them as a consequence.  
  
"Russell Caldwell?" For a moment, Magneto had looked surprised all over again, and then his expression had faded into something part way between resignation and anger. "So, the government isn't above attempting to use mutants for their own ends. Ends that include assassination. How… sadly predictable."  
  
"Yeah, well…" Marcy tried to shrug, not quite able to because of the large hand holding her. He wasn't quite hurting her, but the message that he could was clear. "I never really expected them to be nice people."  
  
He'd given her such an odd look when she'd said that, as if he'd not expected that sort of response. "Did you get that cynical before or after you joined their employ?"  
  
"You make it sound like I had an option. I didn't, not until I'd already concluded that I liked being alive, and was more afraid of what they'd do when I didn't cooperate. That's not really a choice." She stood there, not trying to get away. Struggling would probably just get her hurt anyhow, if not killed.  
  
"So, why are you still standing there, invisible? You can't possibly think that it affords you any substantial protection?" He sounded detatched, almost as if it was a minor intellectual curiosity.  
  
Marcy was pretty sure that she was blushing as she mumbled her response. "I… can't turn visible again. I don't know how, or even if it's possible."  
  
"What?" He looked as if he wasn't quite certain what she'd said, or maybe he was having difficulty believing her.  
  
"She said she can't." The deep rumbling voice seemed somehow perfect for the bodyguard.  
  
"Why not?" He had a small frown, the sort of thoughtful look that reminded her of the smart kids at school or the technical people in the labs for the government when they got a hold of an interesting puzzle. "If your mutation turned you invisible, surely with a little practice you should be able to gain a measure of control over it."  
  
"Didn't come up. I don't think they wanted us to learn how to be visible again. They didn't want us to have faces, outside lives, we were just… invisible, undetectable – well, almost – and we didn't have any outside ties. Perfect tools." She knew that her voice was bitter.  
  
His expression had shifted to calculation, a very familiar expression to Marcy. "So, considering that they can't look for you with any sort of visual photography beyond maybe infrared, would you consider leaving the government's employ, miss…?"  
  
"Marcy Ross." She started to smile, glancing around. The shining metal balls that just clicked back and forth like one of those perpetual motion thingies – only without the framework and supporting threads – was cool looking. He had a pretty interesting reputation, not only for being unconventional, but for what he tried to do. "Are you making me an offer?"  
  
"Yes. I can't offer particularly spectacular benefits, but you will be free to make any effort you desire at controlling your power. You won't have the same governmental supervision… Quite a dreadful amount of scrutiny that they leave." He had this small smile as he folded his hands in front of him. "But the only person issuing orders would be… me."  
  
  
  
She smiled, even though they wouldn't be able to see it. "Sounds good to me. Count me in."  
  
It was not quite a month later that Marcy and Vic were sent to evaluate a possible threat, a place that might have been performing research on mutants. She'd been a bit uncertain how well it would work, considering that while she was a fully rained operative, her equipment was sparse, and she didn't have the thorough briefing. Their entry hinged on her being able to stay visible long enough to get inside, and to look convincingly like a lab assistant long enough to get by the guards.  
  
But Vic turned out to be the best backup that she'd ever had, and not only did they learn that while there was research being done, they were using tissue samples instead of the actual mutants. They'd made copies of the records to take back, in case they made sense to Magneto. Life was looking up, and she had that giddy rush of a job completed.  
  
Laughing, she hugged Vic. "We did it!"  
  
His arms felt good as they wrapped around her. "Yeah, we did."  
  
Something about his voice had been different, almost softer. More like a purr than a growl. Looking up at his dark eyes, Marcy whispered "Vic?"  
  
He leaned down, kissing her with an intensity that left her absolutely breathless in a wonderful way. She began kissing back, her hands running over his body as clothing fell aside.  
  
Oh yeah, this was much better than working for the government.  
  
End A Better Offer. 


	26. A Few Steps

Author: Lucinda  
  
rating: pg13, contains character death and angst  
  
main character: Joyce  
  
disclaimer: I hold no legal rights to any characters that you recognize.  
  
distribution: TNL, Paula, anyone else ask.  
  
note: for Jinni's Poetry Quote Challenge #1. Spoilers for season 5, the Body.  
  
----------------  
  
"Because I could not stop for Death,  
  
He kindly stopped for me;  
  
The carriage held but just ourselves  
  
And Immortality. "  
  
-- Emily Dickinson - Because I could not stop for Death  
  
-------------------  
  
At first, it was just a slight blurring of her vision. Nothing more than that. Except that her hands felt a bit cold, and so did her toes. Sort of like they did in the winter, unless she was wearing a pair of the fuzzy socks that Hank had always teased her about.  
  
It didn't stay at just cold toes and slightly blurry vision, the sort of faint blurring like what happens when there's a little bit of dust or an eyelash in your eye. The coldness extended, and she felt dizzy for a moment. Frowning, Joyce reached for her head, rubbing at her temple. She probably just needed to sit down, to not think so much about the new exhibit for the Gallery. She was still recovering from surgery, after all, and that charming doctor had suggested that she take it easy for a while.  
  
Her head throbbed, pulsing in time with her heart, and her stomach twisted, considered hurling everything back. Joyce looked over at the soft couch, just across the room. It was only a few more steps. If she could just rest for a few moments, everything would be alright...  
  
"Joyce?" The voice was a comforting tenor, half reminding her of this cute European student that she'd had a biology class with years ago in college.  
  
Slowly, Joyce sat up, wondering why she'd been laying on the floor anyhow. She still felt cold, but the headache was gone. "I'm here..."  
  
She rolled her neck, trying to rid herself of this oddly tense feeling, as if she'd slept wrong. "Where are you?"  
  
"Right here, by the door. We had an appointment." There was a faint accent, but she couldn't put a label to it. Something old world, slightly old fashioned and it sent this interesting shiver down her back.  
  
"An appointment?" Joyce turned, looking at the door.  
  
He stood there, his dark hair flowing in waves to just below his shoulders, dressed in dark slacks and a shimmering shirt that had to be silk. He looked like an artist, or perhaps the sort of man that inspired romance novelists... Except for his eyes. They were like looking up into the night sky, pools of star spangled darkness that went on forever.  
  
Comprehension dawned, and Joyce looked back at the floor, seeing herself collapsed there. "ohh."  
  
"It's time to go now, Joyce." His words were gentle, and he walked closer, his hand reaching out to hold hers.  
  
"But... What about my girls? What about Dawn and Buffy?" Joyce looked back at him, wanting to take care of her children, those that she'd borne from her body and those that had made themselves part of her life. "What about Willow and Xander and that nice girl Tara? Who will take care of them now?"  
  
"I'm sorry, Joyce. But it's time for you to move on." He tugged her towards the doorway, where impossibly brilliant light poured in.  
  
"Will they be alright?" She followed, knowing that she couldn't stay, even if she wanted to. Death didn't work like that.  
  
"Now is the time that you have to trust in them, and in the lessons that you've taught them." He paused, now so brightly backlit that she could barely see him. "Everybody has to try life without someone standing there at some point."  
  
"They'll be so sad." She looked once more at the still form on the floor, her body looking so small, and broken. "Will they really be alone?"  
  
"They won't be alone, Joyce. None of them are truly alone." He tugged her closer, into the light. "All they have to do is to remember that, and to listen to each other."  
  
"Then they'll be alight?" She smiled, feeling less worried.  
  
"They have the guidance, and the foundation. It's up to them now to build the rest of their lives."  
  
"I hope they're alright. The world can be scary." Joyce smiled, and stepped into the light.  
  
end A Few Steps. 


	27. Bad Gifts

author: Lucinda  
  
rating: pg 13  
  
main characters: Darla, Angelus  
  
disclaimer: I hold no legal rights to any character from Buffy the Vampire Slayer, created by Joss Whedon.  
  
distribution: Jinni, Paula, Cat anyone else ask.  
  
note: Jinni's weekly poetry challenge #9. Set before the series began.  
  
"He was my north, my south, my east and west;  
  
My working week, my Sunday best;  
  
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song.  
  
I thought that love would last forever, ... I was wrong. "  
  
-- W.H. Auden, 'Song IX' from 'Twelve Songs'  
  
* * * * *  
  
  
  
Darla smiled as she traced her fingers over the tattoo that graced the shoulder of her Angelus. He was her favorite Childe, the only one that she would still want to have traveling with her, the only one that she'd stayed close enough to help influence her grandchildren. He was a magnificent specimen of a man.  
  
A handsome face, a muscular, pleasing body, a quick wit and an appreciation for the fine arts of cruelty... Angelus was everything that she could want in a childe, or in a lover. He was nearly perfect, which was only proper, as she'd taught him everything that he knew about being a vampire.  
  
Smiling, Darla glanced at the girl in the corner, a frightened woman child who couldn't have been more than fifteen or sixteen at the most. She sat in the corner, her hands tied, her mouth gagged with a silken scarf. The fear was almost thick enough to taste, and it was almost surprising that it hadn't woke her darling boy from his slumber.  
  
"Wake up, my precious." She ran her fingernails along his back, suddenly digging in just a little along his ribs.  
  
Growling, he twisted on the silken sheets, glaring sleepily at her. "Darla... why did y' have to be wakin' me up like that?" He paused, tilting his head slightly as the scent of the fear filled his nostrils. "Mmmm... We have company?"  
  
"I found her along the road. She even had a bundle of things." Darla chuckled, looking at the girl, seeing the tear tracks on her cheeks, the shimmer of those large dark eyes. "I think she was trying to run away from home."  
  
Angelus slid from the bed, gloriously naked, every movement filled with predatory grace and confidence. "So, what shall we do with the lass?"  
  
The girl cringed, her eyes riveted on his exposed body, shaking even more. There was a slight whimper; something that Darla knew would only increase her childe's arousal. The tears began to flow more rapidly down the gypsy girls face.  
  
He knelt down beside the girl, pulling her close with a bruising grip on her arm, and leaned closer, licking a tear from her cheek. "So sweet and helpless..."  
  
Moving closer, Darla placed her hand on his shoulder, smiling at the girl. "I have a few suggestions, if you're out of ideas. The poor girl's probably still a virgin. Why don't we show her what a real man can do?"  
  
Chuckling darkly, Angelus rose to his feet, dragging the girl upwards as well. "What a delightful idea."   
  
*****  
  
Darla sat up in her bed, gasping for unneeded air. She could still see everything from the dream-memory of the night that she and Angelus had killed the Kalderash girl. The girl who's clan had been so angered that they'd cursed her Childe with a soul. They'd bound her delightfully cruel childe with a conscience, with morality. It had almost broken him, and he'd gone away for a while. He'd tried to come back to them, to her, but she'd pushed him. Pushed for him to be as he'd been before, and demanded too much too fast.  
  
Now he was gone. No longer in her arms, in her bed. She didn't even know where he was, what continent, what city. He'd vanished from their residence in China, vanished into the darkness. At least she knew that he was still out there, somewhere. She was still his Sire, still had given him the blood that had granted him this eternal life. That had forged their bond, and that bond still reached towards him.  
  
"Where are you, my darling boy? Are you safe from the sunlight? Have you been feeding well?" The words slid out into the air and Darla shivered, pulling on a silken robe.  
  
How could she have known? How could a simple night's pleasure ruin and destroy so much? It made no sense to her, but it had happened.  
  
She still worried about him, missed him, ached for his presence and his touch. His own childer, William and Drusilla, had been horribly upset as well. None of their family had dealt well with his disappearance.  
  
Churning somewhere near her stomach was an unfamiliar sensation, thick and cold. It felt similar to a bruise and a chill, and it grew stronger as she remembered that night, the girl's screams and pleadings, the way that they'd slowly broken her, leaving her body discarded, cast aside like a child's broken toy.  
  
Perhaps it was guilt?  
  
Darla growled, and stalked towards her bathing chamber. She was a vampire, she wasn't supposed to feel guilty. Or regretful. She was just supposed to do as she pleased, to take what she wanted and enjoy her indulgences.  
  
But she still missed her darling boy. Especially tonight, on the anniversary of the gypsy girl's death. The anniversary of the night everything had begun to crumble, not that they'd known.  
  
As Darla soaked in the hot water, she tried to convince herself that the moisture on her face was nothing more than condensed steam, or perhaps she'd splashed the water a little when she'd lowered her body into the perfumed waters. It certainly wasn't a tear. Vampires didn't cry, and especially not over something like a dream, or a memory.  
  
By the time the water was cool, she'd almost convinced herself of the lie.  
  
End Bad Gifts. 


	28. Remembered Fears

author: Lucinda  
  
rating: pg/pg13  
  
main character: Hank Summers  
  
disclaimer: I hold no legal rights to any character from Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel the series - both were created by Joss Whedon. I hold no legal rights to any character you may recognize from any other book/series/movie.  
  
distribution: Jinni, Paula, anyone else ask.  
  
note: Jinni's weekly poetry challenge #7.  
  
REMEMBER me when I am gone away,  
  
Gone far away into the silent land;  
  
When you can no more hold me by the hand,  
  
Nor I half turn to go, yet turning stay.  
  
Remember me when no more day by day  
  
You tell me of our future that you plann'd:  
  
Only remember me; you understand  
  
It will be late to counsel then or pray.  
  
Yet if you should forget me for a while  
  
And afterwards remember, do not grieve:  
  
For if the darkness and corruption leave  
  
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,  
  
Better by far you should forget and smile  
  
Than that you should remember and be sad.  
  
Christina Georgina Rossetti - Remember  
  
* * * * *  
  
He'd never be able to explain it to Joyce, or to Buffy. How would he be able to make them understand the danger, to make them believe him? It sounded so impossible after all... And it would involve digging up a good deal of his family past that he'd prefer to leave buried.  
  
He'd rather let things stay at a fuzzy 'his parents divorced when he was young'. If he could leave out the part where they'd divorced because his mother had discovered that Christopher Summers's young lover was pregnant with his baby... Well, he would have had the chance to grow up with both parents, instead of just his mother.  
  
But the rest of it... To explain that there was a demented scientific monster after his half brother for his DNA... That their daughter might be at risk because of this madman...  
  
Sinister must never get his hands on Buffy.  
  
He didn't even know how it was possible that such a frightful thing could exist. Sinister looked like a man, but with glowing red eyes, and skin that was as pale as one of those toadstool-mushrooms that had grown in his mother's front yard. He'd been in an argument with Scott Summers, Hank's half brother.  
  
The brother that he wasn't even supposed to know about. But he'd found the clipping in one of his mom's old photo albums, and had tried to learn more about his father, about his father's other family. For a while, he'd lost sight of his brother, after the plane accident that had killed Christopher and Anne. Scott and Alex had both been sent to foster homes, and he'd lost track of Alex entirely, never quite able to find him again.  
  
Granted that his education had been in business, but Hank Summers knew trouble when he stared at it's pale, freaky looking face across a small park. 'I will have the Summers genes!' was not a friendly thing, and he didn't think that this guy was the sort to just attend scientific lectures. The impression that he got was something much closer to the whole nazi-experimentations and horror movie mad scientists type of thing.  
  
The idea of making contact with his brother didn't seem quite as appealing after that. What if that frightful thing wanted HIS Summers genes? Or his daughter's...  
  
Buffy wouldn't be safe from that madman. Especially not if he did make contact with Scott, and if that madman learned about him. There had been problems lately anyhow, maybe it would be for the best?  
  
It was only later that he realized that he'd been too fearful, too paranoid. Only after the papers had been signed and trust shattered that he realized that he didn't want them far away from him where they would be safe. Only too late that he realized it was better to have them here where he could see them, hug them.  
  
And all he could do was blame himself and his fears.  
  
He might as well go back to New York,. try to make contact with his half brother. Maybe convincing Scott that they were related would be easier than trying to explain to Buffy and Joyce why he'd done it.  
  
What else did he have to loose anyhow?  
  
end Remembered Fears. 


	29. Dark Hearts

Author: Lucinda  
  
rating: pg13  
  
main characters: Amy Madison, Drusilla  
  
disclaimer: I hold no legal rights to any characters or situations from Buffy the Vampire Slayer, it was the creation of Joss Whedon.  
  
distribution: Jinni, Paula, anyone else please ask first.  
  
notes: Jinni's Weekly Poetry Challenge for Week #6  
  
  
  
"You may shoot me with your words,  
  
You may cut me with your eyes,  
  
You may kill me with your hatefulness,  
  
But still, like air, I'll rise."  
  
- from "Still I Rise" by Maya Angelou  
  
---------------------------------------  
  
  
  
  
  
Amy Madison glared at the Summers house. Buffy was inside, and Willow, and some new girl named Tara, who was also a witch. They were this sickeningly happy group, and she was left on the outside. Even Xander had someone, although she wasn't certain what had happened to Cordelia... or Oz, for that matter.  
  
She couldn't stand it. If they were such a wonderful team, such great friends, why had it taken three years to change her back from a rat? Why had she been ignored in the background?  
  
The biggest question was how to make them pay.  
  
She was still pondering as she caught a bus to LA. It seemed like the easiest and most probable way to get them would be magic. But Sunnydale only had one magic shop, and Giles owned it now. Only an idiot would buy ingredients for a curse in the shop of someone very close to the people that she wanted to hex into utter misery. Which meant travel.  
  
She spent the day meandering around, picking up some herbs, and a couple scented oils in one store. There was no knowledge here, not in that shop. So she kept looking, picking up a bit here, a bit there. There were so many great magic stores, and she could pick up some of the herbs at the organic food stores, and some candles and silken cords at a couple other stores. She didn't buy enough at one place to give the people any idea that she wanted devastation and misery.  
  
A tiny part of her whispered that this was wrong, that what she did would come back to her three fold. She ignored that part. After all, her anger was justified. Three years as a rat - three whole years of her life just... dragged into eternal misery in wood shavings.  
  
"Can you help me, little witch?" The voice was soft, carrying a hint of an accent.  
  
Amy tried to find the person that had spoken, uncertain what to say. She didn't help people. But she froze at the sight of the woman standing there. Her arms and shoulders were burned, some of them reaching up to her face. Soot, ashes and something thick and dark stained her flared pants.  
  
But the most striking thing was her eyes. Deep, dark pools of rage and pain and need. The eyes of a wounded beast.  
  
"What makes you think I could help you?"  
  
"I can hear the screaming in you. You want to make her hurt. She took my Daddy away, took my Spike away... I want to make her scream." The woman moved closer, her hips swaying as if she was trying to dance. One arm and hand slid through the air, graceful like a snake.  
  
"Her? Someone who took your..." Amy suddenly froze, realizing the truth. This woman was a vampire. "You mean Buffy?"  
  
Hissing, the woman's eyes turned yellow, and there were sharp fangs. "Nasty, nasty slayer... She took my precious... No, I will not sound like the little fish eater!" She stamped her foot on the pavement. "Speaking of the precious... all that fuss over a silly ring."  
  
Part of Amy wanted to laugh, wanted to believe that anybody who watched Lord of the Rings couldn't be that bad. But that part would get her killed if she let it. "You want to make the Slayer scream and cry. I want to make her suffer. Why don't we go have a little chat?"  
  
"Yes, I want to make her suffer and scream." The mysterious woman suddenly smiled, looking as sweet and harmless as someone burned and soot streaked could manage. "I'm Drusilla."  
  
Offering her hand, Amy smiled. "Amy Madison. I think that this could be the dawn of a terrible partnership, don't you?"  
  
"The sunshine is ever so dangerous." There was a slight sigh, and Drusilla brushed her hair behind one ear. "We can make the whole town scream."  
  
Amy smirked as she walked towards the little shop with Drusilla. She'd just found the perfect way to make them all pay. Between her witchcraft and Dru's vampire abilities, they should be almost unstoppable. She started to laugh into the night air as she thought about it.  
  
end Dark Hearts. 


	30. For Her Quirks

Author: Lucinda  
  
rating: pg? pg13?  
  
main characters: Angel, Fred Burkle  
  
disclaimer: any character, situation or concept from Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel the series is the creation of Joss Whedon and his writing staff.  
  
distribution: Jinni, Cat, Paula - anyone else ask  
  
notes: Poetry Challenge Week #8, for Mare who asked if I could do Frangel. I hope this works.  
  
------------  
  
  
  
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun,  
  
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;  
  
If snow be white, why then her breasts be dun;  
  
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.  
  
I have seen roses damask'd, red and white,  
  
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;  
  
And in some perfumes there is more delight  
  
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.  
  
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know  
  
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;  
  
I grant I never saw a goddess go,  
  
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground.  
  
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare  
  
As any she belied with false compare.  
  
~Shakespeare, Sonnet 130  
  
-------------------------  
  
She wasn't perfect. He couldn't even tilt his head, squinch his eyes, and pretend that she was perfect, the way he had with Buffy. But she was always in his mind, in his thoughts. It was partly because of her imperfections and quirks that he couldn't stop thinking about her. She was just so... Well, she had a different way of looking at the world.  
  
Especially since unlike most people, Winifred Burkle could actually compare this world to another one, instead of just comparing Los Angeles to Texas. She'd been to Pylea, after all.  
  
Everyone called her Fred. Angel wasn't quite certain why, it wasn't as if her name was that difficult - Winifred. And calling her Fred made her sound like she was just... as if she was just some random guy, nobody to concern yourself with. Or maybe there wasn't much room for women in the baffling halls of physics? Fred was a genius with physics, and she could make the most astounding inventions with a few tools and some parts. Sort of like that MacGuyver character from television, back a few years...  
  
He would never mistake her for one of the guys. Even if she cut her long hair, which fell around her like a curtain, separating her from the world. Even if he couldn't see the way that her clothing flowed over rounded hips and soft breasts... There was the sweet sound of her voice, as she would go on about things that he couldn't quite follow, about particle movement and electron imbalances. Or the way that she would recite what sounded to him like a string of random numbers - though that was apparently pi, stretched out a few hundred decimal places.  
  
She was pretty, and feminine in a way that didn't depend on elaborate gowns or delicately painted features. Not the classical idea of beauty, but... She stuck in his mind, in a way that some of the beautiful women of his past didn't.  
  
"Angel... There you are. Wesley was wondering where you'd gone to, something about a pack of sasparilla demons? No, that's not quite right... Maybe it was demons drinking sasparilla? Anyhow, he wanted to find you, and have a talk about these demons. And I wanted to know if there was another blue marker?" Her soft voice was like thick syrup, rich and sweet as it flowed over him, laden with the scent of pancakes.  
  
"I think there was something about demons trying to get Sasparilla." Angel smiled as he stood up, his fingers itching to run through her hair, to touch her cheek.  
  
"Why would there be a bunch of demons trying to get sasparilla?" She frowned, her fingers twitching as if gripping a pen.  
  
Shrugging, Angel glanced over his desk. "I'm not sure. Something about a ritual that I couldn't pronounce. And Fred, why a blue marker?"  
  
She waved her hand, as if trying to deflect the question. "Are we sure what this ritual does?"  
  
  
  
"Wesley might be. And I think I've only got a red one." Angel moved towards the doorway, where she was standing. He came to a halt right in front of her, unable to leave the office unless he moved her, not quite willing to do that. Closing his eyes, he inhaled her scent, pancakes and maple syrup, and Fred... Winifred...  
  
"Angel?" She was looking at him, her eyes so large and soft and full of questions about everything. But unafraid - she had never been afraid of him.  
  
One hand reached out, almost against his will, and touched her hair. Perhaps it would be better to say against his wisdom - he wanted to touch her hair, wanted to touch more of her. But it wasn't wise. Not with the danger of Angelus. He leaned closer, his body almost touching hers.  
  
For a moment, they stood there, his hand now tangled in her hair, and hers pressed right over his heart, their eyes locked together. But then there was a clattering from the lobby, followed by the sound of Gunn swearing. Both of them jumped in startlement.  
  
"oh, the toaster!" Fred gasped, and turned towards the lobby. "I hope he didn't get hurt too badly..."  
  
More slowly, Angel moved to follow her. Part of his mind was wondering just how a toaster could have been responsible for all of that noise, and another part was just admiring the sight of her retreating body. He shouldn't think of her like that. He shouldn't wonder what she would taste like if he kissed her. He shouldn't want to offer her the secrets of pleasure and passion that he'd learned in his many decades.  
  
But he wanted to. He'd best just try to resist the temptation.  
  
end For Her Quirks. 


	31. A Little Dream

author: Lucinda  
  
rating: pg13  
  
main characters: Cordelia, Wesley  
  
disclaimer; I hold no legal rights to any character, events, or situations from the television shows Buffyt eh Vampire Slayer or Angel: the Series. No profit is being made.  
  
distribution: Wic, NHA, Jinni, Bite Me, anyone else please ask first.  
  
note: responding to a question/discussion at the NHA forums and using Jinni's Week 2 Poetry Quote. Set in season 3 BtVS.  
  
"T'was so; But this, all pleasures fancies bee.  
  
If ever any beauty I did see,  
  
Which I desire'd, and got, t'was but a dreame of thee"  
  
-The Good Morrow, John Donne  
  
* * *  
  
Looking at him as he bent his head over one of the horrible leather bound books in the library, Cordelia held back a sigh. He was just so... He was attractive, well educated, came from a good family, and looking at him gave her this little flutter inside, right under her ribs. Wesley Wyndham-Price.  
  
Cordelia was convinced that he was something wonderful. The sad fact was, she had a crush. She was Cordelia Chase, the Queen of Sunnydale High, she wasn't supposed to get crushes, she was supposed to be the one that people had crushes on.  
  
But as much as she tried to convince herself otherwise, she had a crush. Which left her with a question - what was she going to do about it? Would she just try to hide it? Would she make a move to see what he would do? Should she flirt with him? How should she plan her actions or non-actions?  
  
Contrary to the insults from a few people, Cordelia wasn't quite as experienced at dating as her reputation hinted. And most of the time, the guys had been chasing her, leaving her nothing more challenging that deciding to give them a chance or not, and what to wear for the date. This entire situation was different. Part of it was the age factor – Wesley was definitely not a high school boy, or even someone in college, but a Watcher. Much younger and cuter than Giles, but still a Watcher. She didn't know for certain if he was interested or only thought that she looked good. He wasn't even from the same country, and oh my God, did that mean he needed one of those green card things to stay in America?  
  
Letting her head rest on her hand, Cordelia sighed. This was getting complicated, and that was just one more thing that she didn't need. Not on top of vampires and demons being real, not on top of her daddy's not-so-little tax problem, on top of loosing their house, on top of her 'college fund' evaporating, on top of her still tender stomach. She didn't need this sort of complication, really she didn't.  
  
It would be so much simpler to just sit here and daydream about life. Last year, she would have been in cheering practice, preparing for the next football game. But after she'd fallen, after that metal bar had punctured her body, her doctor had insisted that's he avoid any serious exertion. All of which translated to 'no cheerleading this year', 'no slaying', and try to avoid situations where you'd need to run for your life.  
  
A soft 'Guess who?" as she covered his eyes would be enough that he'd turn around, smiling at her as he leaned forward, his lips meeting hers…  
  
"Cordelia? Are you quite all right?" Wesley's voice cut into her fantasy.  
  
Blinking, Cordelia looked up. She was still in the school library, still surrounded by books of demons. Still over here while he was over there. "I'm okay. I was just… just a bit distracted."  
  
"Nothing dreadful, I hope? I know some of the material in the books can be a bit unsettling, yes, unsettling is a good word for it." His voice was low, still crisp as a result of his English accent.  
  
"No, nothing dreadful. I was just pondering the future, thinking about how I'd like things to be, instead of how they are now." She smiled a little, feeling warmed as he blushed.  
  
"er, yes, that makes perfect sense. Especially considering your injury." He closed the book that he'd been looking in, and placed it on a pile to the side. "What would you do, if you could just pick anything?"  
  
"Anything?" She raised one eyebrow, curious about why he'd asked.  
  
"Yes, absolutely anything." He smiled back, hesitantly.  
  
"I've got a few ideas, nothing quite firm yet." Cordelia smiled, the way Wesley was watching her and blushing giving her hope. Slowly, she rose from her chair and moved towards him. "Do you think I should try to make them happen?"  
  
Wesley swallowed, his eyes lingering on her. His voice sounded a bit tight as he rasped 'Yes, by all means, you should try to make things happen. How else can you know if a dream is attainable?"  
  
"Good." She moved closer, her toes just inside of his, her hand sliding up his arm to his shoulder. Leaning closer, she brushed her lips over his.  
  
One of his hands slid along her arm, much like what she'd just done, and the other came to rest at the small of her back. "Cordelia…"  
  
"Is this attainable?" Cordelia breathed the words out, leaning forward to kiss him again, hoping that he was just surprised, that it was only shock and not disinterest that had kept him from kissing back.  
  
Slowly, hesitantly, Wesley began to kiss her back. It wasn't the sort of kiss that would make it's way to the steamy pages of a romance novel, but it was sweet and interested and tasted faintly of lemon.  
  
Maybe her dreams had a chance after all.  
  
End A Little Dream. 


	32. Daughter of Earth

Author: Lucinda  
  
Rating: pg13?  
  
Main character: Catherine Madison  
  
Disclaimer: anyone from Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel the Series belongs to Joss Whedon and his writing staff and the actors who play them.  
  
Distribution: Jinni, Paula, Cat - anyone else ask first.  
  
Note: Poetry Quote #13,   
  
  
  
  
  
"I am the daughter of Earth and Water,  
  
And the nursling of the Sky:  
  
I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores;  
  
I change, but I cannot die."  
  
-- 'The Cloud' by Percy B. Shelley  
  
-----------------------------------------  
  
  
  
There had been a flash of fire/heat/pain/magical shattering, and Catherine was free. She didn't know what had happened, but that wasn't a surprise. It had been so hard to keep up with current events as a trophy… But the spell was unraveled, and she was free, was human once more…  
  
But there was only a few heartbeats to notice that, and she was only aware that's he was falling, that there was dirt and dust and the stench of blood all around her, and everything was falling with her. The ground under her feet was collapsing, giving way and falling below, away, towards a knot of the purest, most vicious evil that's he had ever encountered, and all she wanted to do was to get away. She tried to scrabble out of the collapsing hall, out of the building, and tripped over a demon, passed the body of a dead woman, made her way to the parking lot of the school.  
  
But it still wasn't enough. A roar that wasn't quite like the ocean announced that things were still collapsing, and there was another sound, like a bus moving away rapidly. She coughed and gasped for air, and started to run along a road, going straight from the school, following a different road from the sounds of the bus.  
  
Almost. She'd almost reached safety, almost reached the shelter of a copse of trees when the ground beneath her gave way. Catherine shrieked, the sound high an fearful as she tried to scrabble upwards, tried to fight gravity as the sand and earth and dry grass and twigs poured down over her, the dust blocking out the sun and the roaring of the collapse nearly deafening her to everything but her screams. There was nothing but the roaring collapse and her screams, and then the earth poured over her and everything went black.  
  
Awareness returned slowly. The first thing that she was could sense was the dull throb of evil in the background, and of disruption, similar to the feeling of disturbance that filled the magical flow after an earthquake. The second was pain. Aches from hundreds of bruises over her body, hissing burning from dozens of tiny scrapes and cuts, stickiness from her blood, the feeling of grit all over her and in the scrapes and aggravating the bruises, and the stabbing sharp feeling on her left side every time that she breathed in or out. Everything was still black, and the only sound was her rapid heartbeat, her labored breathing.  
  
Catherine realized that she'd been buried alive.  
  
The pain was unimportant as she struggled to claw her way out of the earth. It was motion caused by panic and the will to live, not the result of any coherent plan. Her muscles ached, and her side hurt, but she managed to claw her way out, looking around to discover that's he was now panting on the side of a huge crater, the moon large and cold overhead. Her nails were broken, and every inch of her body was covered in dust and blood, much of it her own.  
  
Looking upwards, Catharine laughed, not noticing the shrillness of the sound. "I'm alive! I'm still alive! Do you hear me? I'm not that easy to get rid of!"  
  
Something moved, causing the debris to slither downwards towards the bottom of the crater. Catherine couldn't see the bottom, but there had to be one, even in Sunnydale, a hole couldn't go forever. But it was night, and the moon cast stark shadows over things.  
  
Turning, she saw the yellow eyes of a vampire. The vampire moved closer, limping slightly, each step sending more debris downwards. He growled at her, his teeth bared as he stalked towards her.  
  
"I am Catherine, of the line of Beatrice, of the Witches of the Diego Circle. I fear no walking corpse, for I am borne of sky and earth and all creation." The words slipped from her mouth, a boast of her ability and a warning to the vampire. She reached out, pulling the chaotic power of this place into herself, reveling in the cool/warm/shadow/velvet feeling of it as it filled her, strengthened her.  
  
"I'm not scared of any dark eyed witch. Especially since you look like you just got buried alive." The vampire snarled, moving closer.  
  
Catherine remained where she was, one hand outstretched and held in a fist. Her body was too sore to make the first move. Predictably, the vampire lunged towards her. With a smile, Catherine opened her hand, releasing the fire that she had called, allowing it to engulf the vampire, making him one with the ashes that surrounded her.  
  
"Time to leave this place." Catherine shook her head, and started to stagger upwards, moving away from the crater, away from the blasted place that had once been Sunnydale. "I can take a hint when I get buried in one."  
  
Catherine Madison staggered away into the night, finally free from her assorted prisons. Now, she could take revenge on those who had done her wrong, on her daughter for abandoning her, on her ex-husband for divorcing her, on that blonde who had caused her to be a trophy for years. Considering what she'd just survived, nothing would be able to stand in her way now…  
  
End Daughter of Earth. 


	33. Painful Silence

author: Lucinda  
  
rating: pg13/pg16  
  
main characters: Drusilla, Angelus  
  
disclaimer: I hold no legal rights to any character from Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel the series - both were created by Joss Whedon.  
  
distribution: Jinni, Paula, anyone else ask.  
  
note: Jinni's weekly poetry challenge #9.  
  
"He was my north, my south, my east and west;  
  
My working week, my Sunday best;  
  
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song.  
  
I thought that love would last forever, ... I was wrong. "  
  
-- W.H. Auden, 'Song IX' from 'Twelve Songs'  
  
* * * * *  
  
She knew that she hadn't always been here, hadn't always spent her days here, laying on soft sheets with her Daddy. That they hadn't always played such games of pain and pleasure and blood, hadn't always known just how to make each other gasp and moan and growl.   
  
He'd made her into the woman that she was now. Maybe it would be better to say that he'd remade her... There had been her other family, with sunshine and chores and soft, warm bread covered over with sweet butter. They'd always told her that she was bad, that the devil spoke to her and whispered, that her visions were a curse and a burden. She'd been their burden, their torment.  
  
Until Daddy came. He'd broken them, left their bodies sprawled in an unseemly display on the floor, clothing torn away, flesh ripped open so that all the red blood and dark secrets could run out, splash over the walls and the floor, stain the house forever with the echoes of their screams. They'd begged, begged him for their lives.  
  
But this Daddy was no more merciful than the other Daddy had been. Their pleas had probably carried the same effect that hers had, when her Daddy had beat her to try to drive out the visions. He hadn't stopped then, had only said that she'd make her throat all raw.  
  
She'd tried to run away, of course. She'd tried it before, when the visions first started, when she first started her woman's bleeding, when her mother had told her that she'd never marry because of those evil visions and whisperings. It had never worked.  
  
Daddy had found her. But he was not the same as her old Daddy, and his punishment hadn't been the same either. He'd introduced her to their games, the ones of pain and pleasure, blurring the two until she didn't know why she gasped and whimpered.  
  
He'd killed her that night. He'd made her immortal. It was the same thing, really. Miss Edith had assured her of that, had promised that nothing would change between Drusilla and her doll and confidant.  
  
They should have been together forever. He'd promised that they would be. Promised that he'd never leave her, that she'd never be free of him.  
  
But Daddy had lied.  
  
No, Miss Edith whispered, not Daddy's fault.  
  
Drusilla pouted as she lay on the sheets, inhaling the remaining scent of Daddy. Miss Edith was right, it hadn't been Daddy's fault. It had been those nasty, horrible gypsies. They'd done something to him, used their sparkles and glows and chants and smoke to make him hurt and cry, but they'd given him no pleasure to go with the pain.  
  
That was just not polite at all. You should always give pleasure to go with the pain.  
  
But Daddy was still gone. Gone, gone, vanished into the darkness, and the stars would only weep and hide their faces when she asked where he was. He'd been torn away from their family, ripped out by screams and chants and magic.  
  
It was only right that they'd killed so many of the gypsies when they'd gone to talk to them. They'd deserved it, really they had. It was not nice to break up a family. They should have known that, after all, they'd only been mad because Daddy had taken one of their little girls to become part of his family.  
  
She hadn't even got a new sister to console herself with, the broken gypsy had just lay there, like a dancing puppet with cut strings. She hadn't woke up, hadn't growled and blinked and hungered.  
  
Nothing good had come of that night. Only pain and loss.  
  
"I miss you, Daddy-mine." Her soft whisper was swallowed up by the darkness.  
  
The darkness did not answer her. The darkness never did, only the stars. But the darkness had taken all the stars away, and they were silent now.  
  
end Painful Silence. 


	34. Dying Moon

author: Lucinda  
  
rating: pg13 for angst  
  
main character(s): Willow, mention of Oz, Spike  
  
disclaimer: I hold no legal rights to any character from Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel the series - both were created by Joss Whedon.  
  
distribution: Jinni, Paula, Wic, NHA, WLS anyone else ask.  
  
note: Jinni's weekly poetry challenge #9, set just after the season 4 episode 'Wild at Heart'.  
  
"He was my north, my south, my east and west;  
  
My working week, my Sunday best;  
  
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song.  
  
I thought that love would last forever, ... I was wrong. "  
  
-- W.H. Auden, 'Song IX' from 'Twelve Songs'  
  
* * * * *  
  
  
  
Willow remained on the bed, a slow trickle of tears seeping down from her eyes to dampen her hair and the pillow beneath her head. She didn't bother to wipe at them, there would just be more. Besides, she didn't quite care if they were there. Who would see them? Buffy was out at a party, and Oz...  
  
Oz was the reason that she was laying here, her eyes seeping tears.  
  
Not that it was something he'd done alone. No, it had been a combination of Oz and that nasty, skanky singer, Verruca. The bitch. In this case, it was literal - Verruca was another werewolf. Or had been, before Oz had killed her. But that wasn't why Willow felt so... broken.  
  
Oz had slept with Verruca. They'd had wild, wolfy sex. Twice - well, two nights of it, anyhow. He'd claimed that it was to keep her from hurting anyone, from killing people while she was the wolf.  
  
Nobody had kept her from hurting Willow. Oz hadn't even kept her from trying to come after Willow. Not after she'd walked in on them naked in the crypt that Oz used to confine his wolfy self after they'd had to blow up the high school.  
  
And now Oz was gone. He'd just... left town, vanished as soon as he'd changed back and found pants.  
  
He hadn't even bothered to say goodbye.  
  
Everything inside felt cold, half numb and half bleeding pain. She couldn't sleep, her mind just replaying bits and peices of That Day, from finding them naked, to her near-vengeful casting, to Verruca attacking, Oz and Verruca fighting, Oz nearly killing her, and Oz just... running away. Her eyes hurt from all the tears, and she hadn't been able to eat - everything tasted flat, like ashes.  
  
Buffy and Xander weren't certain what to do about this, so they were elsewhere. Probably with their special someones. Probably happy and smiling and feeling special and attractive and loved.   
  
  
  
Her hands clenched on the striped sheet as she pictured them. They were out being happy, being loved, while she was here, alone in a dorm room. The only light was coming in through the window, the harsh, cold light of the moon. It wasn't full anymore, but had moved into the slow withering that followed. Waning moon. Dying moon. The moon that had held so much power in her life for the past two years.  
  
The moon was dying. Where was Oz, was he safe? Did he think about her, did he care at all about the place that he'd left, the lives that he'd touched? Did he know that he seemed to have ripped her heart out and taken it away with him? Would he care?  
  
Her eyes fluttered closed as she tried to picture Oz, driving away in his van. The moon would continue to shrink, becoming a tiny sliver and then nothing. The New moon, the dark moon. Often associated with dark magic, with death, with birth and rebirth.  
  
What if there was no rebirth? What if there was no starting over after this hideous, horrible ending? Oh, the moon would come back, it always did. The moon was governed by science, by orbits and gravity and eclipsing shadows, not by pain and grief and magic. No matter how many people equated the moon to magic, and symbolism.  
  
Opening her eyes, Willow glanced over, towards the dying moon. "I want this pain to end. please?"  
  
The moon did not answer, not that Willow had expected it to. She'd just wanted to speak her desire, if that was the right word. She didn't feel strongly, nothing seemed quite capable of doing anything strongly. It was as if she was floundering in pain, breathless and hurty-numb and exhausted.   
  
Someone pounded on the door. Had Buffy forgot her keys? Been too busy thinking about Riley and how wonderful things were to think about how to get back inside? That would be typical of Buffy, actually… "Come in."  
  
The door was practically kicked from it's hinges, and flung into the wall with a soft crunching. Backlit by the bright hall lights, a figure stood with a billowing long coat and almost glowingly pale hair. Perhaps a heartbeat or two later, he was inside, heading towards the beds with a growl.  
  
Spike was in her dorm room. This was not a good thing.  
  
Willow managed to shrink into the corner, her body shaking. Spike was here, Spike was growling… "Wh-what do you want?"  
  
"Got a message for your friend the Slayer. It's all about her friends and their idea of hospitality." He was still growling, his eyes golden and angry as he looked at her.  
  
"What friends?" Willow was looking at Spike, still shaking, now realizing that she could still be afraid. Was this it? Was she about to die?  
  
"The ones in camouflage, you…" He glared at her, and then stopped. "Sod this, I don't feel like explaining it all to you."  
  
He moved towards her in an eye-blurring lunge, and then he was on top of her, pinning her to the bed with one hand to either side of her. The position was ironically, horribly close to an act of intimacy, and she could feel the lean muscles of his legs against hers. He had a tiny scar on his neck, just underneath his jaw…  
  
And then his cool lips were at her throat, his tongue sliding over her racing pulse. It felt almost nice, or at least, it might have felt nice if Willow hadn't been so hurt and frightened. That was right before his sharp teeth slid into her skin, with a series of tiny popping sensations, and she could feel the blood gushing out. Willow let out a tiny whimper.  
  
Willow didn't understand why Spike whimpered as well. It was her throat that had been bitten, her blood pouring out, pouring into his mouth. Her skin ripped open and protesting, her heart trampled and shredded. But he slid his arms around her and under her, pulling her closer to him as he drank.  
  
She would have thought that it would hurt more, somehow. But she was feeling cool and numb now, the pain of her torn skin washed away by the flow of blood and the steady suction of his cool lips. The light had dimmed – was the moon dying? No, she was dying.  
  
Something inside of her seemed to stir, to flutter about like a hummingbird on the wrong side of a window. She was dying! There were so many things that she'd never had a chance to do, places that she hadn't gone. She'd never gone overseas, or white water rafting. She wouldn't have a chance to be a wife, a mother. No more chances for anything.  
  
The fluttering something seemed to break free, and at last, nothing hurt anymore. She felt a bit uncertain when she realized that she seemed to be floating, and looking down at herself, held against Spike's body, with his face at her throat. Her own head was tilted back, eyes wide and unseeing pools of green, her mouth parted as if in surprise.  
  
Where had all the light come from? The moon wasn't that bright, was it? Everything felt very light, as if she was floating, and then… it was hard to describe. It was as if the dorm room, and Willow on the bed in Spike's arms was blurring and dimming, like a movie fading out of focus. Except that it was everything around her blurring away, blurring into a sort of gray light.  
  
With a possible swallow – did she have a throat to swallow with? Willow tried to prepare herself. It seemed that she'd sort of gotten her wish after all. The pain of Oz and college and… well, life was over now. Her life was over. Now, she was about to discover what really happened on the other side. Maybe she'd see Jesse again?  
  
End Dying Moon. 


	35. Lonely and Dreaming

Author: Lucinda  
  
rating: pg/pg13  
  
main character: Fred, thoughts about Angel   
  
disclaimer: I hold no legal rights to any characters that you recognize.  
  
distribution: TNL, Paula, anyone else ask.  
  
note: for Jinni's Poetry Quote Challenge #2. Thanks Jinni for the title  
  
----------------  
  
"T'was so; But this, all pleasures fancies bee.  
  
If ever any beauty I did see,  
  
Which I desire'd, and got, t'was but a dreame of thee"  
  
-The Good Morrow, John Donne  
  
-------------------  
  
Fred curled on the chair, leafing through a journal of recent scientific theories and discussions. She should have been delighted with her life. She was safe from Pylea, back in Los Angeles, a place where nobody was trying to enslave her, or kill her, or calling her a cow. She could get tacos any day that she wanted, though not at two in the morning. She could study physics again, instead of trying to figure out if this plant out that one was safe, or to snare something small and edible.  
  
But she wasn't content.  
  
It was all because of Angel, really. Why did he have to be so... wonderful. He was handsome, and strong, and smart, and he wasn't afraid of the fact that her time in Pylea had left her a bit odd, well, odder or that she was a genius with physics. He knew what had happened to her. And he made her stomach go all fluttery with just a single look.  
  
Part of her wanted to say that she was too old to have a hopeless crush, that it was too school girl. But the rest of her insides wouldn't listen, and just got quivery and melty when he was nearby. She was pretty sure that blindfolded, she could tell Angel apart from any other man just by the way that he smelled: all smoke and man and something almost spicy and somber, if a smell could be somber.  
  
She kept having dreams where he'd walk into her room, and kiss her breathless, looking into her eyes and confessing that she'd been dwelling in his thoughts like he'd been in hers. And she's smile at him, and her hands would glide over his skin, and then she'd kiss him back... Those were wonderful dreams.  
  
Except for the fact that it could never happen. Not even if Angel did care about her. Cordelia had told her all about Angel's curse; about how he'd been a vicious, terrifying vampire before a pack of gypsies had given him back his soul. That should have been a good thing, well, sort of sad because it had left him upset and brooding and guilty, but over all good. And if they hadn't put in a stupid clause where his soul would go away if he was perfectly happy, it would have been wonderful. But thanks to that clause, Angel plus perfect happiness equaled Angel being replaced by a deranged killer who enjoyed taunting people before trying to end the world.  
  
No matter how much she wanted to find out if he kissed as well in reality as in her dreams, that would be a bit too much. Turning Angel into an evil guy... As much as part of her wanted Cordelia to be wrong, another part knew that Angel believed it. And if Angel thought that being happy would lead to a disaster, then he'd never let himself be happy, even if it would be safe. So, she'd never have a chance.  
  
Granted, she didn't know if Angel had feelings like hers or not. Sometimes, it seemed like he did, like he was looking at her, full of tormented longing and wishful dreams. And other times, it was as if he didn't care at all, and he'd go away for long hours. Fred wished that she could figure out which was the reality. Did Angel want her, or had she just read too many smutty romance novels, where the guy that the girl wanted always wanted her back? Was it even fair to hope that Angel wanted her, knowing that he didn't think he could have her or anyone?  
  
Trying to comb out her hair, Fred concluded that she was a bit selfish. She wanted Angel to care, wanted him to be aware of her the way she was aware of him. She wanted there to be a connection between them, even if nothing happened. Of course, she'd probably feel a lot better if she could only figure out a way to make certain that Angel would stay Angel, and then he could let himself be happy. Then again, if he could be happy, and he knew that he could be happy ad still didn't want to be with her, then all of her wistful dreams would be shattered.  
  
There was a tapping on the door, and then Wesley's voice called out. "Fred? Angel said that there's a situation, and he hopes that you could help us come up with answers. Could you come down to the lobby?"  
  
"Angel really said that?" Her voice sounded high, taut with questions and hopes.  
  
"Well, he did ask if I could bring you down to the lobby." Wesley sounded almost apologetic.  
  
For a moment, her hopes faltered. Did this mean…? No, she couldn't let herself worry about that now. IF there was a problem, making certain that people didn't get eaten came before sorting out if Angel liked her or not. Trying to sound cheerful, she called out, "I'll be right down."  
  
Time to face everybody once again. Time to try to hide her dreams, just in case he didn't feel the same way. And especially so that Cordelia wouldn't go on and on about all the reasons why Angel shouldn't be too happy. Honestly, Cordelia wasn't a bad person, but she could strip paint with her words when she got going.  
  
On the bright side, Angel would be there, and she could watch him some more. And tonight, when she slept, there would be no limits set by some gypsy spell or groundless fears, only sweet dreams of a lover with cool hands and chocolate eyes.  
  
End Lonely and Dreaming. 


	36. Heart of the Wolf

Author: Lucinda  
  
rating: pg 13, some angst  
  
main characters: Oz, Faith and mention of Willow  
  
disclaimer: I hold no legal rights to any characters from 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer' (creation of Joss Whedon & a whole lot of other people who aren't me)  
  
distribution: Jinni's Quickfics, Paula, anyone else please ask.  
  
notes: response to Jinni's Weekly Poetry Challenge (week 3, Poetry Quote below). Set in season 3, and AU'd.  
  
"SHE walks in beauty, like the night  
  
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;  
  
And all that's best of dark and bright  
  
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:  
  
Thus mellow'd to that tender light  
  
Which heaven to gaudy day denies."  
  
-- She walks in beauty, Byron  
  
Oz wasn't oblivious to the world around him, despite the fact that many people thought he was. He was quiet, and looked calm, which wasn't at all the same and being unaware. He'd known before they'd started dating that Willow had spent years with a crush on Xander. But Xander had either never noticed or never done anything in any way to act on it, so he'd figured it wouldn't be a big problem.  
  
Except that lately, Xander had started to look at Willow differently. When he looked at her, he seemed to see someone pretty, desirable in all the ways that he'd never seen Willow before. He didn't know if Willow had realized that Xander saw her now, or if Xander was looking at her for herself or just because she wasn't spending as much time with him as she had before. But things were changing. How long before he went from watching Willow, from staring at her lips to trying to do something? Before Xander was trying to sneak kisses or using joking come-ons?  
  
Normally, he would have spent a lot more time worrying about those fears. About Xander noticing Willow, and the possibility that if it came to a choice between himself and her old crush, he'd loose. Instead, Oz was wishing that things were that simple. That he only had to worry about passing biology, learning the guitar section for the Dingo's new song, and the fear that Xander would try to steal Willow.  
  
He was blaming it on the wolf in him. While the human part of him thought that Willow was great, sweet, smart, kind... a whole list of things, the wolf wasn't as impressed. The wolf wanted a mate who was strong, a hunter, and that just wasn't Willow. He could have managed if it was as simple as his wolf not being impressed by Willow, but again, things couldn't be that simple. His wolf had fond someone that it did want, someone strong, sleek, and attractive. Faith.  
  
The human part of him wanted to stay with Willow, to see if they could build a future, while his wolf just wanted to run under the moon with Faith and make with the call of the wild. And Faith seemed to find him interesting as well, watching him with a smile on her wine-dark lips, her eyes full of passion and promises.  
  
Willow was the sugar, the sweet gentleness that would be safe and human and comforting. Faith was spice, full of bite and passion and intensity. The only thing that he was sure of was that he couldn't have them both, and it would only lead to very bad things if he tried. If he chose Willow, would that be a denial of his inner wolf? If he chose Faith, would it lead to a slow loss of his humanity?  
  
It made it all worse that he kept feeling like there would only be so long before any choice would hurt someone. He wasn't in love with Faith, not even the wolf in him. He wasn't in love with Willow either. But it would be easy for him - or the human in him, at least - to fall in love with her. If he was going to split with Willow and try things with Faith, it had to be before their feelings got too intense. If being the key word. He didn't know yet which one he wanted more, which one would be the better choice.  
  
Hands wrapped around his waist, slender, feminine hands with dark burgundy nails. He felt soft lips kiss the nape of his neck as he was hugged from behind. "Hey there, wild man."  
  
"Faith." He leaned back against her, enjoying her touch, her scent, just everything.  
  
"Think I could talk you into patrolling with me tonight?" One hand slowly traced up his chest, brushing against his lip. "I wouldn't want to be all by my lonesome."  
  
"Patrol..." Oz considered the offer, both the words and the meaning behind them. She wasn't just asking for a bit of company to keep away the boredom, there was more laying under the words. His wolf recognized that even if the rest might have missed it. "Sounds good, but I think I need to go talk with Willow."  
  
"Why? Does she keep you on such a short leash that you have to ask permission to go slay some vamps?" Faith twisted around, looking into his eyes.  
  
"I think you were offering more than just slaying vamps, Faith." Oz spoke quietly, looking into her eyes. "It's best to make a break of what was there before starting something new."  
  
Faith broke eye contact, her cheeks showing a hint of pink as she made a few noises. "Yeah, well... I suppose there is that."  
  
"Because if we're going to be... something, I want things to start right." Oz said, reaching out to touch the silver cross that hung in the hollow of her throat.  
  
"Yeah..." Her eyes went soft as she smiled, and it made her look younger, almost vulnerable. "It would be nice for everything to start off right for once."  
  
"And that means that I have to let her go before she gets hurt." Oz nodded, and leaned forward, his face near Faith. He inhaled her scent, right beside her ear, and the wolf in him just wanted to roll over and beg.  
  
"Okay..." Faith was givig him an odd look, as if she didn't quite understand something. "So, I smell nice or something?"  
  
Oz stood up, smiling at her. "Yeah. Now I have to go tell a redhead goodbye."  
  
"Tonight, ten o'clock at the old Catholic cemetery. The one with the pair of angels at the front gate." Faith was smiling, and rubbed her hands over the tight black jeans. "I'll bring you an extra stake."  
  
Nodding, Oz walked away. Now that he'd made a decision, everything felt better, simpler. All he had to do now was hope that the talk with Willow didn't go too badly.  
  
end Heart of the Wolf. 


	37. Bereavement

author: Lucinda

rating:

main characters: Spike, Drusilla

disclaimer: I hold no legal rights to any character from Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel the series - both were created by Joss Whedon.

distribution: Jinni, Paula, anyone else ask.

note: Jinni's weekly poetry challenge #9.

"He was my north, my south, my east and west;

My working week, my Sunday best;

My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song.

I thought that love would last forever, ... I was wrong. "

-- W.H. Auden, 'Song IX' from 'Twelve Songs'

Spike leaned back in his chair, balancing it against the wall. In the middle of the room, Drusilla was humming to herself as she twirled thought a bastardized waltz with one of her pets, some terrified blond in a pink dress. The girl kept whimpering, and he could smell the salt from her tears.

He didn't care about the girl's fear, but he frowned as he surveyed the room. It shouldn't be like this. Their family had been broken, Angelus had vanished after those gypsies, and Darla... Well, she'd said that he'd bollixed any chance of making the gypsies fix what they'd done, and after beating him severely, she'd stormed away, vanishing into the night. Without the rest of heir family, things just weren't right.

Darla should be in the corner, playing the elaborate notes of a waltz on the piano, which would have been polished until it gleamed. Angelus would have been sitting in another chair, sketching the frightened girl for a while before stepping in for a waltz with Dru or dragging the girl off to play his own games. There would be minions keeping the place clean and presentable.

Instead, things were... different. Granted, he no longer had to compete with Angelus for Drusilla's time and attentions, but... It didn't feel quite as satisfying as he'd always hoped. He'd wanted her to choose him over Angelus, not for Angelus to just vanish. He would have sworn that no power on, above, or blow Earth could make him miss Darla, but... Damn, he even found himself missing her.

"Why are you crying, pretty?" Dru's voice filled the shadows of the room as she finally noticed the girl's tears.

"Please, just... let me go. Please...." The girl in her pink dress whimpered.

"Let you go... I suppose that you'd go home to your Daddy, and have him give you a kiss?" The dance had haled, and one hand slid over the girl's cheek. "Would your Daddy hold you close and tell you that everything will be safe and good?"

The girl didn't answer in words, only the irregular hitching of her sobs. More tears... As if that would make things better for her. Daft chit really should have learned by now that crying wouldn't solve everything.

Leaning closer, Drusilla kissed the trembling pink lips softly, and whispered, "Would your Daddy hold you close while you sleep, and chase away the bad dreams? Does he caress your soft skin, like mine does?"

"N-no!" The girl was trying to pull away now, struggling ineffectively in Dru's grip.

"He's gone, Dru. Daddy went away." He shook his head, wondering if she was trying to deal, or if this was another of those days when she didn't remember everything.

Dru glanced over at him, her dark eyes full of sorrow. "My Daddy went away from us. He left and now we're all alone..."

"It's not as bad as it could be." He spoke firmly, uncertain if he was trying to convince Dru or himself.

Drusilla let go of the girl, allowing her to collapse into a pink and golden puddle on the floor, still sobbing. She glided over to Spike, and settled onto his lap, one hand sliding behind his neck, the other tracing around a button just below his ribcage. "Why did Daddy have to go away from us? I was a good girl, I did everything that he told me to. I even did what Mummy told me to do."

He pressed a kiss against her head, and sighed. "I don't know. He was upset after that spell; they hurt him. And he had to go somewhere for a while."

"But he wasn't all broken and bloody, there were only a few little scratches. I could have kissed them all better... you could have kissed them all better." Her voice sounded so soft, almost broken.

"Inside, luv. They hurt him inside." He pulled her closer, and closed his eyes, telling himself that it was just so the strands of her hair wouldn't get in his eyes.

"Was he leaking the darkness out? Like when I break my toys, and they leak all their blood onto the floor and the walls in petty patterns?" Her fingers lid the button free from it's hole, and moved up to the next one.

For a moment, Spike considered how to answer that. Leaking the darkness? "Yeah, he was hurt inside. Not a matter of blood and bones, but in his mind."

"But I like to hear them screaming." She whispered, glancing at him through dark lashes.

"I think he was the one screaming inside." He didn't like this conversation. It felt almost wrong to think of their sire like that, wounded, broken... weak.

"Can you help me forget?" Her fingers were slipping the button right under his chin free, and then she nipped at his throat, right over where his pulse used to throb. "Can you make the confusion go away? Make everything simple, and the world shrink down to just you and me?"

He kissed her, tasting a hint of salt – had she licked the girl's tears? Slowly, his hands slid over her body, unfastening the row of buttons on the back of her dress. He tried to convince himself that his hands weren't shaking, that he as only looking forward to a good shag. He didn't miss anyone. Really. "I can make the whole world just the two of us, baby. Just you and me."

"Promise? You'll make me forget?" Her words were barely audible, more the soft puff of air against his throat.

"I'll make sure that you're just screaming for me." He nipped at her collar-bone, sliding the dress down from her shoulders. His fingers traced over her ribs, the bumps of her spine, and he smiled as she shivered. "Even if I have to tie you up to make sure I've got your attention."

"Sometimes I like to be tied up." She whispered, her fingers scratching at his scalp. "Are you going to tie me up and spank me? Have I been a naughty girl?"

"I'll make sure you have everything you need." He tried to push away the memories of Angelus telling Dru that she'd been bad, that her visions were because she was all filled up with evil and secrets. He wanted Dru to forget Angelus, he didn't want to replace him.

Soon, neither of them were thinking of anything else. Not of the absence of Darla and Angelus. Not the sobbing girl on the floor. Only each other, and of pain, of pleasure, and of blurring the line between the two.

End Bereavement.


	38. Grief and Ashes

author: Lucinda

rating: pg13

main character(s): Angel, mentions of Spike

disclaimer: I hold no legal rights to any character from Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel the series - both were created by Joss Whedon.

distribution: Jinni, Paula, anyone else ask.

note: Jinni's weekly poetry challenge #7.

REMEMBER me when I am gone away,

Gone far away into the silent land;

When you can no more hold me by the hand,

Nor I half turn to go, yet turning stay.

Remember me when no more day by day

You tell me of our future that you plann'd:

Only remember me; you understand

It will be late to counsel then or pray.

Yet if you should forget me for a while

And afterwards remember, do not grieve:

For if the darkness and corruption leave

A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,

Better by far you should forget and smile

Than that you should remember and be sad.

Christina Georgina Rossetti - Remember

He could feel it, burning pain that flowed into him from somewhere, from the faded links that had connected him... Angelus... him to his childer. The pain flowed in, white-hot and burning, building up into a tower of agony that defied words. He fell to the floor of his office, gasping for air, his whole body rigid with the effort not to scream.

Nobody could help him, no spell or chemical or words would make the agony stop. It would only stop when his child no longer suffered. But who could it be? Drusilla? Penn was dead, so were James and Elizabeth. Clarice had been cheerfully lurking in Paris. Which left... Spike. What was happening to Spike?

The pain didn't so much fade as burn out, and when the pain had gone from burning, flaming agony to dull embers, it had taken away the connection to Spike. There wasn't a low throb of agony that had been there after the being known as Glory had tortured him, or the headache-echo from the chip, just... nothing. Only a smoldering ache and ashen memories. Spike was no more than memories and ashes now.

His childe was dead.

Slowly, Angel forced his body to get up, to sit in the leather chair instead of sprawl and arc and gasp in pain on the floor. Spike was dead. He didn't know what had happened... but he would guess that it had some connection to the big battle in Sunnydale. Had Spike died fighting beside Buffy? Had he fallen to a minion of the First? Or... Had it been the amulet?

Angel hissed, feeling his fangs drop and the ridges emerge at the idea. Had the amulet that Wolfram & Hart found, the one that was supposed to 'help the final battle' caused his Childe's destruction? Had this been their idea of 'help'? Had he handed the gaudy, shiny instrument of his childe's doom over to Buffy?

From the dark corners of his mind, where Angelus had been confined, the growl rumbled, emerging into the air. Spike was dead. His childe was dead. And in the dark parts where Angelus merged with Liam and Angel, he raged, and grieved, and howled for vengeance. Spike was HIS childe, nobody else had the right to destroy him! He needed to have answers, and he needed to figure out what to do, who to kill...

No, he was Angel, not Angelus. He didn't randomly kill people. He tried to avoid specifically killing people. Information first, then a plan, and then he could figure out who he needed to maim or kill over this. Had it been a horrible accident? Had Spike fallen in battle? Or had the amulet been a trap, a shiny token of doom?

He managed to stop growling, and took a few deep breaths, hoping to rein back his temper. He'd always had too much of a temper, even back when he was alive. Growling at everyone, or even most random someones wouldn't help. He had to control himself in order to learn anything.

Feeling as if he probably wouldn't try to bite anyone, he started towards the door. Reaching for the knob, he paused, checking to see if he'd remembered to put his human mask back on. With a few moments effort, he looked human again, less threatening to the mortals. He needed to think, not to destroy things.

He could remember the shy, heartbroken mortal that he'd first spotted, the emotion that had surged around him. He could remember how William had been so eager as a new vampire, looking for trouble and fights. He remembered teaching him to hunt, to stalk and toy with his prey. Nights of fear and blood and pain, of sex and killing. He remembered that night in China, where Spike had killed his first Slayer. He remembered the arrogant, impatient vampire that had interrupted Buffy's junior year.

Spike had been his childe. A glorious killer, full of arrogance, danger, and impatient to experience everything now - pain, violence, blood, pleasure... Everything. And he always wanted it right now. He'd always been impatient; it had been one of his faults.

Part of his mind was turning over ideas, debating how to try to learn what had happened to Spike. Wesley wouldn't understand, neither would Gunn. Cordelia might have understood, or at least have been willing to help, but... Fred might have helped, but Illyria... He already knew that Illyria would see no point in the idea.

Maybe if he called Faith? Or if he asked Giles, though Giles would undoubtedly stammer and think he was worried about Buffy. In a way, he was, but not like he would have been four years ago. He cared, but it was a more distant thing, not the overwhelming obsession that had marked his time in Sunnydale. Xander... probably would delight in telling him that Spike was dead; Xander had never liked Spike, hell, Xander had never liked him. No, that wouldn't be the best way to go.

That was when he saw the news. Live coverage of panoramic views of the gaping remains of the town, victim of an 'unexplained collapse'. It looked as if the earth had just opened up and swallowed the town. And he knew that Spike had been in the middle of it.

"What happened to you?" The question slipped out, half anger, half despair.

"The reporters say that they don't know." He vaguely recognized the woman, somebody mostly human from the secretarial pool. "There was a scientist on earlier talking about seismic activity, and speculating that a large cavern may have collapsed. Nobody's had an explanation yet why it would have taken this long for such a large, unstable cavern in earthquake territory to give way."

"There was supposed to be a battle." He wasn't certain if he was speaking to her, or to himself. "I think this is the aftermath. What were they doing out there?"

"Sir, we already have people trying to gather information on what happened." Her voice was hesitant, as if she feared that she'd make him angry by speaking.

Angel glanced at her, noting all the signs of almost concealed fear. A human wouldn't have noticed, but her heartbeat was accelerated, and it had crept into her scent. "Good. There was also an amulet. I think someone dug it up out of one of the vaults, and it was sent over to help somehow." He reached over, lifting a pad of the lined paper. "I'll draw up a picture. The possibility exists that the amulet may have been a factor in what happened."

"Of course, sir." She shifted her weight, eyes glancing around the room. Was she looking for help, for someone to pass the responsibility towards, or simply trying to assess the situation. "I'll have a copy sent to the departments of artifacts and archeology, it may be something they have comprehensive records about."

He handed the pad back to her, glancing at the life-sized sketch of the gaudy thing. He'd added notes about its weight, the hue, and his guesses about the metal. "I want updated every day, even if it's only that they're still looking, and a summary of the latest explanatory bullshit on the news."

"Yes, sir." She took a step backwards. "Is that... everything?"

Angel nodded, rubbing at the back of his neck, a hopefully hidden check assuring him that he still looked human. "That's everything. It's been a very long night, I'll be going to my apartment for now. If they find out what happened, what really happened, have the news taken to me at once, no matter what time it is."

"Of course, sir." She seemed slightly less nervous, and didn't quite scurry away.

Angel sighed, and made his way to his new penthouse. It seemed almost too easy to put the resources of Wolfram & Hart to work to find out what had happened. But how much could they learn? Could he trust them? He made a mental note to try a few outside sources, hopefully someone would be able to tell him something.

Something more than Sunnydale was a crater, and Spike was dead.

end Grief and Ashes.


	39. Damaged

author: Lucinda

rated y-14, Contains swearing, violence, drinking, & mentions of sex. Also major character death.

main characters: Spike, Buffy

contains mention of past-tense Spike/Dru, Dru/Angelus, Dru/others, and Buffy/Angel

disclaimer: I don't own anybody from Sunnydale.

distribution: um, if I've given the ok for previous stories, you can also have this one if you want it.

notes: AU s4 - Spike did not come to Sunnydale for the Gem. Uses Jinni's PoetryQuoteChallenge 18

I wish that I might be set free

from little cares that bother me

But human frailty is such

that small things matter very much.

- My Cage by Mildred Price

Drusilla had left him. Again.

It had been damned annoying the way she'd been shagging Angelus when he'd lost the soul. Not quite as annoying as when the arrogant bastard had tried to destroy the world, but damned frustrating. Bad enough that she'd gotten involved with that Chaos demon last year. He'd been able to ignore her playing with minions off and on, telling himself that they needed the punishment to bring discipline, and it gave him more time to plan.

He'd caught her in bed with a fungus demon. Disgusting. The whole room reeked of sex, slime and some other vampire.

His next clear moment had been in Mexico, watching some drunken vampire tourist tossing rats to the iguanas. He'd apparently left Brazil, drank a hell of a lot, considering the way his head had been throbbing and his tongue had tasted furry. At least, he hoped it had just been too much alcohol leaving his tongue feeling furry, he wasn't too clear on the time between Brazil and here.

"What in the hell am I doing?" Spike had asked, looking up at the stars. He didn't expect them to answer, but he needed to figure out what he was going to do next.

He'd gone to ground in some old ruins, hiding from the sun. There wasn't any television, but the carvings made up for that. The walls were covered with old carvings, strange figures with wide smiles or animal heads carving hearts out of bound captives. He could even smell the faintest lingering hints of old blood and fear, the sweat of crowds. "Bloody Aztecs... You got to admire their dedication."

It felt like Dru had carved his heart out and tossed it to the side. Shattering him with affair after affair, dallying with the minions, writhing and clawing at Angelus, screaming for him to take her again. Had the Chaos demon and this new Fungus demon been her only demonic lovers? The damned bitch kept cheating, kept laughing about it and the way that it made him hurt inside.

He shouldn't care. A vampire wasn't supposed to care, weren't supposed to expect the same sort of careful relationships as a human. Glaring at the ceiling, he shouted, "Damn it all, I do care."

Spike growled, looking again at the carvings on the wall. Piles of hearts, piles of bodies. He remembered hearing something about the Aztecs sacrificing to their gods, to keep the sun rising and the plants growing. He'd done something similar for Dru, for his dark goddess, only to have her cast him and his devotion aside.

He wasn't going to continue the pattern. He was done with Dru. Besides, if the daft woman had bothered to remember what she'd read before taking some demon to bed, she'd know that Fungus demons reproduced by letting their spores grow in dead things, eating their way out. It was a gruesome thing, though a bit interesting if it was just in a corpse. He'd seen a minion once, before Dru had been turned, that had shagged a Fungus demon. For about a week, nothing seemed different. Then, she'd started feeling pains in her stomach, and drinking more blood. About a month in, her stomach started to swell, and there was pain all the time.

He could still remember waking up to her screaming, watching her stomach bulge and ripple before it had burst open, the little fungus demons spilling out and settling down to feed, stripping the flesh from her bones as she screamed and flailed.

One of the most hideous sights that he'd seen, ever. He certainly didn't want to be there to watch it happen to Dru.

"I need to remind myself of what it means to be a bloody vampire," Spike muttered. "Something big, violent, lots of blood. The sort of thing to make people take notice."

He considered slaughtering every idiot vampire in the area that wouldn't follow orders and taking over the town. He imagined the blood running in the streets and the screams of the townsfolk.

"Nah, tequila gets old, and I doubt I could get anything good on the telly," Spike decided. "Something else..."

Killing that Slayer in New York had done big things for him, though. If he could do that again, kill another Slayer... "Yeah, I'll go kill the Slayer. She's in Sunnyhell. That one always did put up a good fight."

He'd leave when the sun set. He could steal a car, and be in Sunnyhell in less than a week, and take the chance to feed up and be in good form to take down the blond Slayer. She was pretty, they always were, but he still couldn't figure out what Angelus had seen in her... Must have been just the soul.

end part 1.

Spike grinned as he saw the 'Welcome to Sunnydale' sign along the road. Swerving, he left the road to smash into the sign. It did create an alarming rattle underneath the hood, but he wasn't worried. He was in Sunnydale now, the car had served its purpose.

Next step, finding the Slayer. That had never been one of his problems in this miserable town. She was always there, just underfoot to trip up his plans. It should be easy to figure out where she was, then he could get into a fight. Maybe he'd kill her tonight, maybe he'd let her get away so that she'd have time to stew in the fact that he was here, get herself right terrified before he killed her? No, he didn't think this one worked that way.

He left the car parked along a side street in the warehouse district, and started looking for the Slayer. He'd start local, and then move to the cemeteries, maybe that pathetic excuse for a club if he couldn't find her sooner. If nothing else, he could pick up someone for dinner.

After three hours of searching, two large demons looking for a fight, and one dead frat-boy, Spike felt the Slayer's presence near the college campus. She looked like she'd lost a little weight, and her hair had lost some of the shine and bounce that he remembered.

"What's the matter, Slayer? Did the brooding lump get himself dusted?" He called, hoping to both attract her attention and keep her off-balance.

Her head turned, and she glared, seeking his location in the shadows. A stake was clutched in one hand, and had the other clenched into a fist. "Spike, what are you doing here? In Sunnydale?"

"I like the ocean view," he drawled, not wanting to admit anything more. He didn't want her to know about Drusilla, about Spike's current unease about his vampire-hood. "So, where is General Grumpy-pants anyhow? Dare I hope dead?"

"Don't you talk about him!" She swung he fist at him, eyes furious.

"I guess I touched a nerve," Spike grinned, blocking her fist. "Want me to touch another one? He talked about you when he stayed with us."

Buffy swept one leg at him, knocking him off balance as she spat angry words that he didn't pay attention to. She was angry, they were fighting – that was enough. Spike lost himself in the violence, feeling indescribably better. He could feel the bruises starting to form where she'd gotten through his guard, and he could see one forming on her cheekbone, and another on her arm, just below the elbow.

"I could turn you, give you a bit more time to dwell on your issues with him," Spike offered, uncertain if she'd be able to adapt to unlife as a vampire, uncertain if he'd even want her to have the chance. But to spend decades watching her pine of Angelus, taunting her over the older vampire's abandonment of her… If he'd been less in love with Dru, that's what he would have done. Should have done.

She froze for a moment, her eyes wide with shock as the breath caught in her throat. "No…"

Spike decided to seize the moment, and lunged for her throat. His fangs pierced flesh, and he could taste her blood, thick and hot, potent. The fight was there, something he could taste, as was fear. Did she really fear getting turned that much? He drank greedily, not wanting her to manage to get away from him somehow.

Pain flared in his back, moving into his chest.

Spike gasped, loosing his hold on her throat as the pain radiated through his whole being. Without his grip holding her up, the Slayer fell to the ground. He staggered back, looking down to see a tiny bit of wood sticking out of his chest. "You stabbed my coat…"

Spike crumbled away, his ashes falling over Buffy Summers, the Vampire Slayer. Buffy closed her eyes, a tiny smile on her face. She took a shallow breath, letting it out slowly, and then was still.

Neither one of them was in pain anymore.

End Damaged.


End file.
